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megustaleer

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About megustaleer

  • Rank
    technopobe
  • Birthday 31/07/1945

core_pfieldgroups_99

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

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  • Location
    Sussex by the Sea

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  1. Just Abandoned

    Two books I really enjoyed - must be the hot weather making it difficult to concentrate!
  2. Poetic Wanderings

    Prayer the church's banquet, angel's age, God's breath in man returning to his birth, The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage, The Christian plummet sounding heav'n and earth Engine against th' Almighty, sinner's tow'r, Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear, The six-days world transposing in an hour, A kind of tune, which all things hear and fear; Softness, and peace, and joy, and love, and bliss, Exalted manna, gladness of the best, Heaven in ordinary, man well drest, The milky way, the bird of Paradise, Church-bells beyond the stars heard, the soul's blood, The land of spices; something understood. Prayer by George Herbert
  3. Poetic Wanderings

    There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears: Their earth is but an echo of the spheres. from Don Juan - canto XV by Lord George Gordon Byron
  4. Poetic Wanderings

    'Tis said that when The hands of men Tamed this primeval wood, And hoary trees with groans of woe, Like warriors by an unknown foe, Were in their strength subdued, The virgin Earth Gave instant birth To springs that ne'er did flow That in the sun Did rivulets run, And all around rare flowers did blow The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale And the queenly lily adown the dale (Whom the sun and the dew And the winds did woo), With the gourd and the grape luxuriant grew. So when in tears The love of years Is wasted like the snow, And the fine fibrils of its life By the rude wrong of instant strife Are broken at a blow Within the heart Do springs upstart Of which it doth now know, And strange, sweet dreams, Like silent streams That from new fountains overflow, With the earlier tide Of rivers glide Deep in the heart whose hope has died-- Quenching the fires its ashes hide,-- Its ashes, whence will spring and grow Sweet flowers, ere long, The rare and radiant flowers of song! The Forest Reverie - EdgarAllen Poe
  5. Poetic Wanderings

    Do you remember an Inn, Miranda? Do you remember an Inn? And the tedding and the spreading Of the straw for a bedding, And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees, And the wine that tasted of tar? And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers (Under the vine of the dark verandah)? Do you remember an Inn, Miranda, Do you remember an Inn? from Tarantella by Hilaire Belloc
  6. Poetic Wanderings

    Yes, I think a poem is a spell of kinds that keep things living in a written line, whatever's lost or leaving - lock off rhyme - and so I write and write and write your name. Spell - Carol Ann Duffy
  7. Poetic Wanderings

    I SAY that Roger Casement Did what he had to do. He died upon the gallows, But that is nothing new. Afraid they might be beaten Before the bench of Time, They turned a trick by forgery And blackened his good name. A perjurer stood ready To prove their forgery true; They gave it out to all the world, And that is something new; For Spring Rice had to whisper it, Being their Ambassador, And then the speakers got it And writers by the score. Come Tom and Dick, come all the troop That cried it far and wide, Come from the forger and his desk, Desert the perjurer's side; Come speak your bit in public That some amends be made To this most gallant gentleman That is in quicklime laid. Roger Casement - W.B. Yeats
  8. Have a Rant!

    So sorry about your injuries iff. I hope they mend soon. Also sorry about your brother not taking the ticket for Paul Simon & James Taylor. I would love to help you out there, but it's a bit too far to travel!
  9. Poetic Wanderings

    ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. “Beware the Jabberwock, my son The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!” He took his vorpal sword in hand; Long time the manxome foe he sought— So rested he by the Tumtum tree And stood awhile in thought. And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. “And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” He chortled in his joy. ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. Jabberwocky - Lewis Carroll
  10. Poetic Wanderings

    When the Present has latched its postern behind my tremulous stay, And the May month flaps its glad green leaves like wings, Delicate-filmed as new-spun silk, will the neighbours say, "He was a man who used to notice such things"? If it be in the dusk when, like an eyelid's soundless blink, The dewfall-hawk comes crossing the shades to alight Upon the wind-warped upland thorn, a gazer may think, "To him this must have been a familiar sight." If I pass during some nocturnal blackness, mothy and warm, When the hedgehog travels furtively over the lawn, One may say, "He strove that such innocent creatures should come to no harm, But he could do little for them; and now he is gone." If, when hearing that I have been stilled at last, they stand at the door, Watching the full-starred heavens that winter sees, Will this thought rise on those who will meet my face no more, "He was one who had an eye for such mysteries"? And will any say when my bell of quittance is heard in the gloom, And a crossing breeze cuts a pause in its outrollings, Till they rise again, as they were a new bell's boom, "He hears it not now, but used to notice such things"? Afterwards by Thomas Hardy
  11. what is everyone doing?

    Gad you are enjoying it, luna, and look forward to you joining in when you feel more at home with poets and poems. I am still struggling with the heat - and we are supposed to be cooler here on the coast, so I don't know how everyone else is coping. All I am managing to do at the moment is water the garden and prepare meals. Not sure how the veggie plants are enjoying the water I save from my shower, or from the kitchen tap, and sometimes the washing up water. The leaves are all quite lush, but they never enjoy tap water as much as proper rain. The lawns front and back are a disaster - even the clover is turning brown now, and the pots I planted along the drive have had it.
  12. Poetic Wanderings

    THOUGH I waste watches framing words to fetter Some spirit to mine own in clasp and kiss, Out of the night there looms a sense 'twere better To fail obtaining whom one fails to miss. For winning love we win the risk of losing, And losing love is as one's life were riven; It cuts like contumely and keen ill-using To cede what was superfluously given. Let me then feel no more the fateful thrilling That devastates the love-worn wooer's frame, The hot ado of fevered hopes, the chilling That agonizes disappointed aim! So may I live no junctive law fulfilling, And my heart's table bear no woman's name. Revulsion by Thomas Hardy
  13. Poetic Wanderings

    Sometime when you're feeling important; Sometime when your ego 's in bloom; Sometime when you take it for granted, You're the best qualified in the room: Sometime when you feel that your going, Would leave an unfillable hole, Just follow these simple instructions, And see how they humble your soul. Take a bucket and fill it with water, Put your hand in it up to the wrist, Pull it out and the hole that's remaining, Is a measure of how much you'll be missed. You can splash all you wish when you enter, You may stir up the water galore, But stop, and you'll find that in no time, It looks quite the same as before. The moral of this quaint example, Is to do just the best that you can, Be proud of yourself but remember, There's no indispensable man. The Indispensable Man - Saxon White Kessinger
  14. Poetic Wanderings

    Hear now the Song of the Dead—in the North by the torn berg-edges— They that look still to the Pole, asleep by their hide-stripped sledges. Song of the Dead in the South—in the sun by their skeleton horses, Where the warrigal whimpers and bays through the dust of the sear river-courses. Song of the Dead in the East—in the heat-rotted jungle hollows, Where the dog-ape barks in the kloof—in the brake of the buffalo-wallows. Song of the Dead in the West—in the Barrens, the waste that betrayed them, Where the wolverine tumbles their packs from the camp and the grave-mound they made them; Hear now the Song of the Dead! from The Song of The Dead by Rudyard Kipling note: The word 'sear', as spelled in this cut and pasted version is alternatively spelled 'sere' in other copies. Similarly various renderings of the phrase 'the sere and yellow,' can also be found with 'sear' as a spelling variation.
  15. Poetic Wanderings

    Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold, Molten, graven, hammer’d, and roll’d; Heavy to get, and light to hold; Hoarded, barter’d, bought, and sold, Stolen, borrow’d, squander’d, doled: Spurn’d by the young, but hugg’d by the old To the very verge of the churchyard mould; Price of many a crime untold; Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Good or bad a thousand-fold! How widely its agencies vary: To save—to ruin—to curse—to bless— As even its minted coins express, Now stamp’d with the image of Good Queen Bess, And now of a bloody Mary. "The Moral of The Tale", the final stanza of Thomas Hood's satire on the corrupting power of money; "Miss Kilmansegg and Her Precious Leg"
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