Friday Poetry

Happy Friday Everyone!

There is beautiful blossom everywhere so I thought a suitable poem was needed. I hope you are all enjoying the sunshine.

 

Loveliest of Trees, the Cherry Now

 

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now

Is hung with bloom along the bough,

And stands about the woodland ride

Wearing white for Eastertide.

 

Now, of my threescore years and ten,

Twenty will not come again,

And take from seventy springs a score,

It only leaves me fifty more.

 

And since to look at things in bloom

Fifty springs are little room,

About the woodlands I will go

To see the cherry hung with snow.

 

A. E. Housman 

222207_10150239581306273_4967074_n

 

Lady Book Dragon.

Friday Poetry

This week it is another cat poem because I have discovered the perfect poem for our fat cat Pan and here it is!

Have a good weekend everyone.

 

Bustopher Jones: The Cat About Town

 

Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones –

In fact, he’s remarkably fat.

He doesn’t haunt pubs- he has eight or nine clubs,

For he’s the St James’s Street Cat!

He’s the Cat we all greet as he walks down the street

In his coat of fastidious black:

No commonplace mousers have such well-cut trousers

Or such an impeccable back.

In the whole of St James’s the smartest of names is 

The name of this Brummell of Cats;

And we’re all of us proud to be nodded or bowed to

By Bustophers Jones in white spats!

His visits are occasional to the Senior Educational

And it is against the rules

For any one Cat to belong both to that

And the Joint Superior Schools.

For a similar reason, when game is in season

He is found, not at Fox’s, but Blimp’s;

But he’s frequently seen at the gay Stage and Screen

Which is famous for winkles and shrimps.

In the season of venison he gives his ben’son

To the Pothunter’s succulent bones;

And just before noon’s not a moment too soon

To drop in for drink at the Drones.

When he’s seen in a hurry there’s probably curry

At the Siamese- or at the Glutton;

If he looks full of gloom then he’s lunched at the Tomb

On cabbage, rice pudding and mutton.

So, much in this way, passes Bustopher’s day-

At one club or another he’s found.

It can cause no surprise that under our eyes

He has grown unmistakably round.

He’s a twenty-five pounder, or I am a bounder,

And he’s putting on weight every day:

But he’s so well preserved because he’s observed

All his life a routine, so he’ll say.

And (to put it in rhyme) ‘I shall last out my time’

Is the word for this stoutest of Cats.

It must and it shall be Spring in Pall Mall

While Bustopher Jones wears white spats!

 

T. S. Eliot

 

My very own Bustopher Jones!

IMG_20190308_123654

Lady Book Dragon

Friday Poetry

Happy Friday Everyone!

The weekend is on its way and I hope you all have some good reading lined up.

This is my chosen poem of the week, hope you enjoy.

Children’s Song

We live in our own world,

A world that is too small

For you to stoop and enter

Even on hands and knees,

The adult subterfuge.

And though you probe and pry

With analytic eye,

And eavesdrop all our talk

With an amused look,

You cannot find the centre

Where we dance, where we play,

Where life is still asleep

Under the closed flower,

Under the smooth shell

Of eggs in the cupped nest

That mock the faded blue

Of your remoter heaven.

 

R. S. Thomas

 

Lady Book Dragon.

Friday Poetry

I have a little confession, I am absolutely obsessed with Cats the musical and love the poems by T. S. Eliot, so I thought it was high time I put a cat poem on my blog. I have put my favourite cat up first, because who doesn’t love a mystery cat?

 

Macavity: The Mystery Cat

Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw-

For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law.

He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair:

For when they reach the scene of crime – Macavity’s not there!

 

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,

He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.

His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,

And when you reach the scene of crime – Macavity’s not there!

You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air-

But I tell you once and once again, Macavity’s not there!

 

Macavity’s a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin;

You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.

His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;

His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.

He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;

And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake.

 

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,

For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.

You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square-

But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there!

 

He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)

And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s.

And when the larder’s looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,

Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke’s been stifled,

Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair –

Ay, there’s the wonder of the thing! Macavity’s not there!

 

And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty’s gone astray,

Or the Admirality lose some plans and drawings by the way,

There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair –

But it’s useless to investigate – Macavity’s not there!

And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:

“It must have been Macavity!” – but he’s a mile away.

You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,

Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.

 

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,

There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.

He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:

At whatever time the deed took place-

MACAVITY WASN’T THERE!

And when they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known

(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)

Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time

Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

 

T. S. Eliot

 

Happy Friday Everyone!

The cat in the picture is my cat Pan, even though he is not ginger and rather large, he is never there and very difficult to find, just like Macavity. Also if something happens in our house it generally is Pan, but you can never catch him in the act. He is also very difficult to photograph, this is probably the best picture I have of him.

Lady Book Dragon.

 

 

Friday Poetry

The daffodils are out so I thought a suitable poem was required. Also I do believe the weekly poetry reading is starting to work as I am finding more and more poems that I enjoy reading.

Happy friday everyone and I hope you all have some excellent reading planned for the weekend.

Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

 

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

 

The waves beside them danced, but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed – and gazed – but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

 

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

 

William Wordsworth

 

Lady Book Dragon

A Blue Poetry Paintbox chosen by John Foster (Review)

A Blue Poetry Paintbox chosen by John Foster

61A9SFE2DTL

Blurb

You’ll find castles and giants, and dragon to dance with, races to run and snow to have fun with, monsters, monkeys, magicians and foxes, in this fourth colourful Poetry Paintbox anthology, for children aged six years and over.

Review

Ok, so I know I am way over six years of age and not a child but I like to think I am a child at heart. I have been sorting through some of the books that are still at my parents’, house and found my first ever poetry book out. This poetry book holds a lot of memories, I believe I got it from the Book People who used to come into schools and you could order books from them. I also remember bringing it into school for an assembly and the teacher borrowed it and then lost it, I was devastated and my mom was furious. Thankfully the teacher found it about two years later just before I left school. The other day I sat down and happily read it cover to cover remembering my old favourites and the poems I did not enjoy so much.

As a child I did not appreciate how this book was laid out, I never realised that all the poems are linked in pairs. So there are two poems about dragons, two poems about the sea and so on and so forth. The poems are by different authors and all have wonderful illustrations. The two poems about dragons were my particular favourites as a child.

The only thing that annoyed me with certain poems was that they went rolling along and then the last line makes the whole poem stumble, because it does not feel like it quite fits. However this could be because the adult me is now getting too picky.

There are 54 poems in the book, some better than others but mainly all enjoyable and a fun read for children and adults. I gave this book 4 Dragons out of 5 Dragons for all the happy memories it has brought back. I leave you with one of my favourites.

There was an old pirate

There was an old pirate called Pete

Who captured a whole fishing fleet.

He said ‘Don’t be scared.

All your lives will be spared.

I only want something to eat!’

Wendy Larmont

 

Lady Book Dragon.

FNaXu6f+RZ60U+7IzS1xUA

Friday Poetry

Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has some exciting reading planned for the weekend. Yesterday was the first day of the year that I got to sit outside in the sun and read, it was glorious.

Days

What are days for?

Days are where we live.

They come, they wake us

Time and time over.

They are to be happy in:

Where can we live but days?

 

Ah, solving that question

Brings the priest and the doctor

In their long coats

Running over the fields.

 

Philip Larkin

 

Lady Book Dragon.

Friday Poetry

So for this friday’s poetry I thought I would share with you all a poem from my childhood. I recently found an old poetry book that I had when I was very young and I have been re reading it. I have chosen a Dragon related poem because Dragons are brilliant!

The Sleepy Dragon

 

A dragon awake

in his mountain lair

where he’d slept

for a thousand years.

 

His treasure was rusty

his scales were dusty

his throat was dry

his wings wouldn’t fly

his throat was croaky

his fire was smoky

his eyes weren’t flashing

his tail wasn’t lashing

his claws couldn’t scratch

though he tried.

 

So he sighed

and stretched himself

over the floor

and went back to sleep

for a thousand years more.

Irene Rawnsley

 

Lady Book Dragon

Happy St Valentine’s Day!

Happy St Valentine’s Day Everyone!

I hope you all get some wonderful books off your Valentine’s.

I know it is not Friday but I just had to share this special poem about love with you all. I think Robert Burns sums it up perfectly.

A Red, Red Rose

My love is like a red, red rose

That’s newly sprung in June:

My love is like the melody

That’s sweetly played in tune.

 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in love am I:

And I will love thee still, my dear,

Till a’ the seas gang dry.

 

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:

And I will love thee still my dear,

While the sands o’ life shall run.

 

And fare thee weel, my only love,

And fare thee weel a while!

And I will come again, my love, 

Thou’ it were ten thousand mile.

 

Robert Burns

 

Lady Book Dragon

Friday Poetry

This poem I chose because believe it or not I am currently doing a Chicken Behaviour and Welfare course online with Edinburgh University. After owning chickens for quite a few years I decided to learn more about them. After all you are never too old to learn new things.

Also this is my 100th blog post. Thank you for all the ‘likes’ and ‘follows’ everyone.

Cock – Crow

Out of the wood of thoughts that grows by night

To be cut down by the sharp axe of light, –

Out of the night, two cocks together crow,

Cleaving the darkness with a silver blow:

And bright before my eyes twin trumpeters stand,

Heralds of splendour, one at either hand,

Each facing each as in a coat of arms:

The milkers lace their boots up at the farms.

Edward Thomas

1930793_56721166272_4236_n

This was the first cockeral that I ever owned his name was Charles and his hens were Queen Elizabeth, Eugenie, Victoria, Diana, Beatrice and Catherine.

Happy Friday Everyone!

Lady Book Dragon.