Still…

…cannae help it.. Then I’m going to bed. Maybe.

Blame Fridays that go into Saturdays. ‘Nuff said except for new songs. Just discovered. He’s great. So’s Ian Mckellan. I need to dance now. Then bed. Promise…ish. Cannae believe I’m still awake!

What a fine young man. Not Ian McKellan. He’s a talented auld fart. Must be over 40 if he’s a day. Pretty good at miming youth right enough. *taking notes*

Here And Doubts

In the arms of distant travel there’s a stranger

Promising a land of faraway, a gentle mask

To all the dreams of yesters unaccomplished,

To all the hidden questions left unasked.

In that journey of a thousand million wishes,

Soft upon a dream that never was,

There are faces that, as yet, are undistinguished

Biding time, for me, in just because,

Upon a place and medium I cannot know

For time and space and distance choose the ways,

Adventure of the spirit seeks a passage

And ticket is a willingness to pay

The price of what I have before me in this present,

Faced with comparisons I cannot do without.

There’s a life and world I never lived but cherished

In the worlds within the worlds of here and doubts.

Can’t Help It…What’s mine is yours

I’m a few haufs in here. Browsing t’internet, faceythinging, twootering, emailing and listening to a cd mix of my daughter’s at the same time. Multi-tasking on a Friday night. (while eating a Crunchie!)

I saw this video during the week on a blog I follow and enjoyed it so much I watched it twice. I would reblog but I’ll be fecked if I can remember whose blog it was on. So You Tube it is. Addition to the multi-tasking. What a woman! What a wonder t’internet is!

The CD mix I’m listening to has this song on it and I can’t hear it now without reliving this guy’s epic performance. So my earworm is yours.

Tough shit if you don’t like Taylor Swift in my house.

This is also on the CD and I love this guy.

Watch it or don’t. That’s the mood I’m in. 🙂 This guy has a cracking voice. Hearing him without seeing him gives a lie to ageism.

Finished my Crunchie. Fortunately Grouse has a way to go. Wee weans are in their beds. Big weans are doing big weans’ stuff. Hubs was watching kickbaw the last time I saw him and gave him a Crunchie. No euphimisms. Just Friday night at the Hurleys. And I’m awake. Bonus!

Happy Fridays! And a grand weekend to you all. May all your Crunchies be filled with beat and bonus times.

Just gonna watch that cop again. I think I might fancy him! Sense of humour and rhythm – cannae whack it!

And the bonus is…

Because I’ve read a lot of posts about time this week. And I have some right now. Joy!

Still not helping it…

So??? It’s Friday. And music. And what’s mine is yours. And I like his music. And. What the feck. Give me one good reason…

 

 

 

 

The Thrill

Bird in the sky

It’s a wide sky to fly out on your own here,

Kinda lonesome in a lovely sort of languid, lithesome way,

Like distance is no object on a clear day

And wings are happy just to flap away.

It’s a long time I’ve travelled on this journey,

Kinda ages since I roosted for a rest,

Like someone’s moved the landmarks without warning

But I’m happy doing what I do the best.

It’s the flight, you see, that really is the main part,

Kinda shooting breeze and riding currents fair,

Like flying without falling is my skill set

And nothing in this world can quite compare.

It’s the way I am, you know, I’m off the wire,

Kinda restless when I have to stay too still,

Like motion is my purpose and my meaning,

It’s a gift of wings and head for heights that thrill.

Dramaturge

 

Guest post from Paul, for Anne-Marie’s friends and followers

 

Dramaturge

 

tearing into the fear
ripping doors from their hinges
of madness
to shine my hot eyes
on cold creatures within

I am rescuer come
to save sanity’s author
bring him back to his talents
normalcy once again
breathing self-confident ether

standing with attitude
planted on mind-stones
cemented with bone-ash and opium
I ring down thunder
and call out these monsters

despair mongers
cower in two-cornered rooms
pissant puny flat figments
whose bitter-taste whispers
will suffocate brains

they dissolve at my touch
into puffs of red smoke
as I wrote it should be
with my critical pencil
my duty fulfilled

 

– Paul F. Lenzi

http://poesypluspolemics.com/

A Loveless Cup – hypocrisy

I couldn’t quite decide which way to go with the loving cup so you get two for the price of one. Whether you like it or not! It’s a bargain. 🙂

The Quaich – a loving cup

A bit less loving in its purpose here below………

***************************************************************

And so they lifted lips to gilded vessel,

Sips they shared, the wine a loving cup,

Drank a toast to trust and to their unions,

Fashioned fealties, supped with every drop.

Sacrificed simplicity to beggared,

Adornments guilt-edged, paths of royalty,

Fettered by encroaching ways and tethered,

Love ceded to complex hypocrisy.

 

The Quaich – a loving cup

gifted, fashioned, crafted from a tree trunk

exquisite in its usefulness and shape

hollowed in the centre for the purpose

of holding liquid for our thirst to slake

gifted from the giver of the airy

fashioned for liquidity of life

crafted by the hands of man in union

with sources and the gifts for which we strive

no need for gilding or adornment

its beauty lies in purpose and in form

simplicity from complex matter

life- holding from life-giving

lovingly borne

330px-Oak-quaich(image http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quaich)

Lies

To the wonderful readers of this most resplendent blog…
The host recently read a poem of mine of on my blog here : Experimental Fiction and liked it enough to let me post it here as a guest post. However, she also said that she read it back-to-front and it worked as a piece that way too… and I have to agree. So, I have posted it here as ScottishMomus’ version which I still like, and a link to the original can be found here. I hope you like it.

You’re all that I wanted,
But it was not to be,
Our life in five words,
You were lying to me.

Your actions spoke louder
Than a shout from on high,
Facades came crumbling
I’d never know why.

A mask of forgiveness
And patience pretended,
But truth is now out,
Falseness is ended.

We thought that forever
Could be held close and near,
But hands lose their grip
When shaken by fear.

The first lie you told me
Were the last words you said,
No love in your heart,
No me in your head.

Superlative

Taller than Tibetan peaks and wider

Than oceans vast, no finite count

Or measure to attain,

Deeper than all trenches, deemed elusive,

More omnipotent than all rulers ever reigned.

Sweeter than all sugared of confections,

Of honeyed traps

So tempting to all tastes,

More succulent than fruits extreme, exotic,

More precious than any diamond’s face.

Superlative in wonder and in grandeur,

Glorious

In scaling heady heights,

In delving and delighting in its facets,

No stronger force than love in all its might.

 

Hush, Hear

I can hear your heartbeat in the distance,

Keeping pace with mine, the two as one,

Synchronising love right in this instance, 

Pulsing on the waves, euphonic thrum.

I can hear your words although they’re mellow,

Leaves in breezes, dulcet in the air,

I can hear you, can you hear my echo,

Thoughts transmitting, all of loving care.

Listen, can you hear the quiet murmurs,

Syllables and hearts in parity,

Hush to hear them building ever stronger,

Feelings growing in new unity.