Friday Poetry

So for this week I’ve gone for a Christmas poem to get into the festive spirit. I hope everyone’s Christmas planning is going well. The picture is from my visit to the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona.

Christmas

The bells of waiting Advent ring,

The Tortoise stove is lit again

And lamp-oil light across the night

Has caught the streaks of winter rain

In many a stained-glass window sheen

From Crimson Lake to Hooker’s Green.

The holly in the windy hedge

And round the Manor House the yew

Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge,

The altar, font and arch and pew,

So that the villagers can say

‘The church looks nice’ on Christmas Day.

Provincial public houses blaze

And Coporation tramcars clang,

On lighted tenements I gaze

Where paper decorations hang,

And bunting in the red Town Hall

Says ‘Merry Christmas to you all’.

And London shops on Christmas Eve

Are strung with silver bells and flowers

As hurrying clerks the City leave

To pigeon-haunted classic towers,

And marbled clouds go scudding by

The many-steepled London sky.

And girls in slacks remember Dad,

And oafish louts remember Mum,

And sleepless children’s hearts are glad,

And Christmas-morning bells say ‘Come!’

Even to shining ones who dwell

Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.

And is it true? And is it true,

This most tremendous tale of all,

Seen in a stained-glass window’s hue,

A Baby in an ox’s stall?

The Maker of the stars and sea

Become a Child on earth for me?

And is it true? For if it is,

No loving fingers tying strings

Around those tissued fripperies,

The sweet and silly Christmas things,

Bath salts and inexpensive scent

And hideous tie to kindly meant,

No love that in a family dwells,

No carolling in frosty air,

Nor all the steeple-shaking bells

Can with this single Truth compare-

That God was Man in Palestine

And lives to-day in Bread and Wine.

John Betjeman

Lady Book Dragon

Friday Poetry

So this weeks poem holds a special place in my heart. This poem I used at university in my composituion module. I set the words to music to be sung by a four part choir and I got very high marks in it. I spent a lot of time with this poem and the more I worked with it the more I enjoyed it.

My chosen poem is The Tyger by William Blake.

The Tyger

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmertry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burned the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? And what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? What dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,

And watered heaven with their tears,

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake

Happy friday!

Lady Book Dragon.

Friday Poetry

Happy Friday everyone! So the end of the week is here and I have chosen a poem to reflect how the weather has started to change with winter. It is also by one of my favourite authors Emily Bronte. The picture was taken on a recent walk.

Spellbound

The night is darkening round me,

The wild winds coldly blow;

But a tyrant spell has bound me

And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending

Their bare boughs weighed with snow.

And the storm is fast descending,

And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,

Wastes beyond wastes below;

But nothing drear can move me;

I will not, cannot go.

Emily Bronte

Lady Book Dragon

Friday Poetry

This week I have been trying to read a few poems, when I have the time and to be honest the inclination. I am determined in my quest though and will continue to read as much poetry as I can.

I chose this week’s poem because it made me giggle, and what better way to like something than when it makes you giggle. Also frogs and toads were my favourite animals as a child and I still have a soft spot for them. Happy reading!

“I’m nobody! Who are you?”

I’m nobody! Who are you?

Are you nobody, too?

Then there’s a pair of us – don’t tell!

They’d banish us you know.

How dreary to be somebody!

How public, like a frog

To tell your name the livelong day

To an admiring bog!

Emily Dickinson

Lady Book Dragon

Remembrance Sunday

This Sunday when we think of all those people who made the ultimate sacrifice and we wear our poppies with pride, I will read the poems written by Wilfred Owen and reflect. Here is one for us all to share.

Dolce et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime…

Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If some smothering dreams you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,-

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum best

Pro patria mori.

Wilfred Owen

We will remember them.

Lady Book Dragon.

Remember, remember…

Good morning my fellow bloggers.

Has anyone been to a bonfire this weekend? My family always do a big bonfire for family and friends with a few fireworks. It is always a nice way to all be together and eat good food, have a few drinks, have a good chat and let off some fireworks and sparklers. This years bonfire we got on to the subject of burning the Guy, something we have not done for a few years. Then we started to chat about how the true meaning of Guy Fawkes night or Bonfire night has started to disappear and it is all about the big firework displays and bonfire. Most children do not even know who Guy Fawkes is anymore, let alone why we have Bonfire Night.

A brief history

On the 5th November 1605 Guy Fawkes a member of Gunpowder plotters was arrested guarding the explosives under the House of Lords. The people of London celebrated that the plot to kill King Charles I had been foiled by lighting bonfires all over London. A few months later an act called Observance of 5th November Act was enforced that meant every year a day of public thanksgiving that the King had survived was to be observed and celebrated and so Guy Fawkes Night or Bonfire night was born.

Below is the full poem about the events, however, nowadays we only generally remember the first two lines.

Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder treason and plot.
We see no reason
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!

Guy Fawkes, guy, t’was his intent
To blow up king and parliament.
Three score barrels were laid below
To prove old England’s overthrow.

By god’s mercy he was catch’d
With a darkened lantern and burning match.
So, holler boys, holler boys, Let the bells ring.
Holler boys, holler boys, God save the king.

And what shall we do with him?
Burn him!

Next year I fully intend on making a Guy again with a balloon head and everything and throwing it on the fire. It is time to remember and bring back our traditions and history.

Happy Guy Fawkes Night!

Lady Book Dragon