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megustaleer

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About megustaleer

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    technopobe
  • Birthday 31/07/1945

core_pfieldgroups_99

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    Sussex UK
  • Interests
    Reading, Gardening, Grandchildren
  • How did you hear about this site?
    via bookgroup.info

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    Sussex by the Sea

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  1. Old elm that murmured in our chimney top The sweetest anthem autumn ever made And into mellow whispering calms would drop When showers fell on thy many coloured shade And when dark tempests mimic thunder made - While darkness came as it would strangle light With the black tempest of a winter night That rocked thee like a cradle in thy root - How did I love to hear the winds upbraid Thy strength without - while all within was mute. It seasoned comfort to our hearts' desire, We felt that kind protection like a friend And edged our chairs up closer to the fire, Enjoying comfort that was never penned. Old favourite tree, thou'st seen time's changes lower, Though change till now did never injure thee; For time beheld thee as her sacred dower And nature claimed thee her domestic tree. From The Fallen Elm by John Clare
  2. This is the first book for I don't know how long that has me picking it up at every available opportunity. Enjoyed the "Good Days" section enormously - now just starting on the "Bad Days".
  3. I don't have a plan - just to try and get some reading done, which has not been all that successful in recent years. However: I am now on book 9 for 2019 - which is already three times the number I read in 2018, and seemingly 9 times as many as I read in 2017 (I'm sure that cant be true, but can find no mention on BGO of more than one book started that year). So, this year can already be considered a success, thanks to the unscheduled medical emergency.
  4. About to start Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman
  5. And who, when it comes to the crunch, can live with a heart of gold? That night, I dreamt I bore his child, its perfect ore limbs, its little tongue like a precious latch, its amber eyes holding their pupils like flies. My dream milk burned in my breasts. I woke to the streaming sun. So he had to move out. We’d a caravan in the wilds, in a glade of its own. I drove him up under the cover of dark. He sat in the back. And then I came home, the woman who married the fool who wished for gold. At first, I visited, odd times, parking the car a good way off, then walking. You knew you were getting close. Golden trout on the grass. One day, a hare hung from a larch, a beautiful lemon mistake. And then his footprints, glistening next to the river’s path. He was thin, delirious; hearing, he said, the music of Pan from the woods. Listen. That was the last straw. From Mrs Midas - Carol Ann Duffy
  6. Elder Son brought this in for me to read in hospital. I managed the first thirty pages that evening, but had surgery the following morning and only picked it up again a couple of days ago. I have just finished part I. i was hooked by the first 12 lines, as they brought to mind a particular person - I tried it out on Mr meg yesterday, who immediately thought of the same person, his oldest friend. I never knew he was acquainted with Ian MeEwan It's years since I last read any of McEwans novels, but do feel that this has a definite flavour if his previous work, and I am enjoying it - mostly - although I fear that much of my enjoyment seems to indicate a combination of schadenfreude and misandry that do not reflect well on my own character. The physics bits are, I'm afraid, quite beyond me, but I am hoping that is the intention of the author!
  7. Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; snug as a gun. Under my window, a clean rasping sound When the spade sinks into gravelly ground: My father, digging. I look down Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds Bends low, comes up twenty years away Stooping in rhythm through potato drills Where he was digging. The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft Against the inside knee was levered firmly. He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep To scatter new potatoes that we picked, Loving their cool hardness in our hands. By God, the old man could handle a spade. Just like his old man. From: Digging - Seamus Heaney
  8. Boys dream of native girls who bring breadfruit, Whatever they are, As bribes to teach them how to execute Sixteen sexual positions on the sand; This makes them join (the boys) the tennis club, Jive at the Mecca, use deodorants, and On Saturdays squire ex-schoolgirls to the pub By private car. Such uncorrected visions end in church Or registrar: A mortgaged semi- with a silver birch; Nippers; the widowed mum; having to scheme With money; illness; age. So absolute Maturity falls, when old men sit and dream Of naked native girls who bring breadfruit Whatever they are. Breadfruit - Philip Larkin
  9. Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which yet thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must low And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones and soul's delivery. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings and desperate men And dost with poison, war and sickness dwell, And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then ? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die. Holy Sonnet 10 by John Donne
  10. NEVER shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.' 'But I can get a hair-dye And set such colour there, Brown, or black, or carrot, That young men in despair May love me for myself alone And not my yellow hair.' 'I heard an old religious man But yesternight declare That he had found a text to prove That only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.' For Anne Gregory - W B Yeats
  11. Excellent! Now here's an old favourite of mine: O 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown! Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town? And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?"- "O didn't you know I'd been ruined?" said she. -"You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks, Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks; And now you've gay bracelets and bright feathers three!"- "Yes: that's how we dress when we're ruined," said she. -"At home in the barton you said 'thee' and 'thou,' And 'thik oon' and 'theäs oon' and 't'other'; but now Your talking quite fits 'ee for high compan-ny!"- "Some polish is gained with one's ruin," said she. -"Your hands were like paws then, you face blue and bleak But now I'm bewitched by your delicate cheek, And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!"- "We never do work when we're ruined," said she. -"You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream, And you'd sigh, and you'd sock; but at present you seem To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!"- "True. One's pretty lively when ruined," said she. -"I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown, And a delicate face, and could strut about Town"- "My dear - raw country girl, such as you be, Cannot quite expect that. You ain't ruined," said she The Ruined Maid - Thomas Hardy
  12. Each poem should link to the previous one by a common word, and that word is put in 'bold' so it is easily picked out. My extract from The Hunting of the Snark links to "thimble" in Heather's extract from Skimbleshanks, which links to word "whisper" in the extract from the previous poem, Chivalry. The rules are explained in the very forst post of the thread. I think maybe you haven't quite got it, as I can't find the word "windowsill" in The Hunting of the Snark, so couldn't see how they link together. Perhaps you thought you needed to find another poem with the "bold" word in it, as I see that "thimbles" appears in your choice. I think that would make the game far too difficult. No, any word from the previous extract will do as the link, except the one that has been printed in bold. It's great that you are joining in, numbers here have become decidedly thin, so would you like to have another try? There are a couple of words in your very interesting poem that are also in The H of the S, so you could use one of them as the link.
  13. The Baker's Tale They roused him with muffins—they roused him with ice— They roused him with mustard and cress— They roused him with jam and judicious advice— They set him conundrums to guess. When at length he sat up and was able to speak, His sad story he offered to tell; And the Bellman cried "Silence! Not even a shriek!" And excitedly tingled his bell. There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a scream, Scarcely even a howl or a groan, As the man they called "Ho!" told his story of woe In an antediluvian tone. "My father and mother were honest, though poor—" "Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste. "If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark— We have hardly a minute to waste!" "I skip forty years," said the Baker, in tears, "And proceed without further remark To the day when you took me aboard of your ship To help you in hunting the Snark. "A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named) Remarked, when I bade him farewell—" "Oh, skip your dear uncle!" the Bellman exclaimed, As he angrily tingled his bell. "He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men, "'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right: Fetch it home by all means—you may serve it with greens, And it's handy for striking a light. "'You may seek it with thimbles—and seek it with care; You may hunt it with forks and hope; You may threaten its life with a railway-share; You may charm it with smiles and soap—'" ("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold In a hasty parenthesis cried, "That's exactly the way I have always been told That the capture of Snarks should be tried!") "'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day, If your Snark be a Boojum! For then You will softly and suddenly vanish away, And never be met with again!' "It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul, When I think of my uncle's last words: And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl Brimming over with quivering curds! "It is this, it is this—" "We have had that before!" The Bellman indignantly said. And the Baker replied "Let me say it once more. It is this, it is this that I dread! "I engage with the Snark—every night after dark— In a dreamy delirious fight: I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes, And I use it for striking a light: "But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day, In a moment (of this I am sure), I shall softly and suddenly vanish away— And the notion I cannot endure!" From The Hunting of The Snark - Lews Carroll
  14. Us oldies have been having a torrid time! I was blue-lighted into hospital in the small hours last Monday and then had quite an interesting few hours in Resus, once my situation was under control. Bearing in mind that this was Brighton, which has a bit of a reputation, a patient in a nearby cubical gave me a few interesting insights into the seamier (to me) side of life. Helped pass what could have seemed a very tedious wait for a bed in cardiology After having needles stuck in various parts of my anatomy all week, an angiogram and a cardiac MRI I am now home with an ICD and a whole new medication routine. At least I'm not allowed to do any housework for 6 weeks :) I also have a machine that is supposed to read the data from the IDC while I am asleep, and transmit it to someplace where the medics can read it, only so far I have been unable to get the 'transmit' bit to download. I hate technology! Hoping your knees soon heal. momac
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