Can’t get rid of me

Just so you didn’t miss me too much while I was away for a few days, I programmed this to publish on Saturday. If you’re reading it then I guess it worked.

I have posted about my favourite poem here previously (a year ago I think) but here it is again for anyone else who might be a fan.  This poem instantly transports me to a fragrant summer’s afternoon; to a calm, more contented place, to simpler times. I guess you could say it’s my happy place. My blog is named after this poem.

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The Quiet Life

Happy the man whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Blest who can inconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day.

Sound sleep by night, study and ease
Together mixt, sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

by Alexander Pope (1688 - 1744)

Haystacks by Claude Monet

Be sure of today

I was reading a book a few weeks ago that was given to me by my darling grandmother before she died. Inside the book I found a beautiful handmade bookmark with a message in my grandmothers tiny handwriting.

“No matter what the future holds, if you can you should eat good food today, enjoy the sunlight today, spend time with loved ones today and be thankful for it all. Do not look back on happiness or dream of it coming in the future, be sure only of today and do not let yourself be cheated out of it .”

I intend trying harder to live my life by that credo.

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By the way this is my 200th post since I restarted my blog in February. So many words, so much rubbish. 

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When all is said and done

Sam from “Yes, I know Sam is a boy’s name” posted recently about what she hopes her obituary will say when the time comes in the far distant future. Slightly morbid and rather egocentric but hey, that sounds like my kind of thing. Here’s my fantasy effort.

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Louise 12/8/1965 – 13/8/2065

Forever cherished friend, daughter, sister, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother. Critically acclaimed short story writer and poet in her later years, Lou was also a long time environmental campaigner, gastronome and world traveller. Mother of renowned educationalist and peace activist Rory, grandmother of Booker Prize winner Emily and Nobel Prize (Chemistry) winner James. Lou was awarded an honorary PhD in 2021 for her philanthropic endeavours and unwavering pursuit of social justice.

Lou died peacefully yesterday in her historic Arrowtown home surrounded by her family, the day after celebrating her 100th birthday and receiving a congratulatory telegraph from His Majesty King Henry IX. She remained the rambunctious matriarch to the end.

Great-granddaughter Dr Louise Harrison spoke on behalf of the family thanking everyone for the hundreds of kind messages and floral tributes.

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Anyone else macabre enough to want to think about what theirs might say? Come on, give it a go, let your imagination run wild. It’s actually quite fun.

 

 

 

 

Florence Nightingale's grave St Margaret's Church, East Wellow, England

Photo ‘borrowed’ from the website Solarnavigator.net

Tawdry Tuesday

 

There once was a young girl named Jeanie

Whose dad was a terrible meanie:

He fashioned a latch

and  hatch for her snatch -

She could only be had by Houdini

       Samuel Hopkins Adams       

Limerick laughter

I know that the limerick is considered the very poor and somewhat back water cousin of ‘proper’ poetry but I have always been a big fan of all things licentious and bawdy.

There was a young fellow named Hyde

Who fell down a privy and died

His unfortunate brother

Then fell down another

And now they’re interred side by side

Spot the pun in the last line?  Chuckle.

There was a young girl whose frigidity

Approached cataleptic rigidity

Till you gave her a drink

When she quickly would sink

In a state of complaisant liquidity

From ‘The Lure of the Limerick’ compiled by William Baring-Gould and published by Wordsworth Editions Ltd 1989.

Hollow words

I read a passionate and angry post earlier today and it elicited an emotional response from me. I haven’t been able to put the subject matter out of my head all day and it’s left me feeling drained and bereft. No amount of distraction has been able to fill the hollow feeling that is mine today.

It’s only 10.00 on Saturday night but am going to bed where I’ll pop a fluff movie (The Holiday) into the DVD player and hope it’ll lull me off to sleep. When I wake this crater inside me will be filled with my dreams of tonight and life can resume.

For now I’ll get some words down which might help to empty me of this absent feeling.

Green coat bloodied,
Dying, twisting, falling
Bare arms reaching for the concrete sky
Beseeching, more sun
Imploring, more time

Alphabet Soup

I saw this idea somewhere a few weeks ago, where you write a poem with each line starting with the next letter of the alphabet.

I have hunted around to see if I can find where I saw the idea so I could give proper credit but I haven’t been able to find it. If anyone knows or spots it, please let me know so I can reference the site.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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All I need is to be understood,

Be appreciated for what I can offer

Coming only when you need me is not good enough

Dumping your problems on me

Enough is enough

Forget that there ever was an ‘us’

Go on with our lives

Holding no grudges

I am moving on

Just stop ringing and calling around

Keep away from me

Leave me alone

My mental health is worth more to me than you are

Not that there was ever any future to this

Or any chance of success

Put me out of your mind

Quiet time is what I need so I can think

Reason must be applied

So be it

There will be other opportunities for love

Until then I’ll be OK

Virtually alone

Without love but without your harmful words

Xyster filing at my heart

You are a good man but not my good man

Zip, nada, nothing more to come – it’s over between us

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OK, OK I beg your forgiveness for this tripe dear readers. It’s harder than you think it will be. I challenge you to give it a go – go on and see if you can do better :-)

My favourite poem (again)

The Quiet Life

Happy the man whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Blest who can inconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day.

Sound sleep by night, study and ease
Together mixt, sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

by Alexander Pope (1688 - 1744)