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megustaleer

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Everything posted by megustaleer

  1. She is new to me. Out of curiosity I did a search for Easter Saturday poems, expecting the usual dross that any search for poems on the internet turns up, and found that little gem. I immediately added it to my collection of poems for my U3A "Poetry for Pleasure" group - if I start it up again post-pandemic.
  2. A curiously empty day, As if this world’s life Had gone underground. The April sun Warming dry grass Makes pale spring promises But nothing comes to pass. Anger Relaxes into despair As we remember our helplessness, Remember him hanging there. We have purchased the spices But they must wait for tomorrow. We shall keep today For Emptiness And sorrow. Easter Saturday - Elizabeth Rooney
  3. Yeah, it was a bit sneaky, but I put my moderating hat on and allowed it. We are a bit lenient in some circumstances, such as plurals made with an added 's' - i just stretched it a bit after hunting unsuccessfully for another word to use.
  4. I see from my post on page one of this thread that I was then watching series2 of Unforgotten. I have been equally gripped by the 3rd and, sadly, last of the series. We are also still watching Fake or Fortune, which is even more repetitious as they are all repeats from an earlier series. Mr meg hasn't rerecognised any of them. The joy of poor memory - everything is a new experience every time! I have been enjoying the recent plethora of painting programmes. Sky Arts' Portrait Artist of The Year, 2020 and a few from 2019, also Landscape Artist of The Year. Currently on Landscape Artist of The year (Canada). Could watch those every day. Have also enjoyed Grayson's Art Club and the life-painting programme 'Drawers Off'. All quite different types of artistic endeavour, some less accomplished than others, but all fascinating - and sadly both programmes now finished. Mr meg likes Bob Ross - I'm afraid I'm not a fan.
  5. Am I a stone, and not a sheep, That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross, To number drop by drop Thy blood’s slow loss, And yet not weep? Not so those women loved Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee; Not so fallen Peter, weeping bitterly; Not so the thief was moved; Not so the Sun and Moon Which hid their faces in a starless sky, A horror of great darkness at broad noon – I, only I. Yet give not o’er, But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock; Greater than Moses, turn and look once more And smite a rock. Good Friday - Christina Rosetti
  6. On a Lane in Spring by JOHN CLARE A little lane - the brook runs close beside, And spangles in the sunshine, while the fish glide swiftly by; And hedges leafing with the green springtide; From out their greenery the old birds fly, And chirp and whistle in the morning sun; The pilewort glitters 'neath the pale blue sky, The little robin has its nest begun The grass-green linnets round the bushes fly. How mild the spring comes in! the daisy buds Lift up their golden blossoms to the sky. How lovely are the pingles in the woods! Here a beetle runs - and there a fly Rests on the arum leaf in bottle-green, And all the spring in this sweet lane is seen. On a Lane in Spring - JOHN CLARE
  7. In the middle of our porridge plates There was a blue butterfly painted And each morning we tried who should reach the butterfly first. Then the Grandmother said: "Do not eat the poor butterfly." That made us laugh. Always she said it and always it started us laughing. It seemed such a sweet little joke. I was certain that one fine morning The butterfly would fly out of our plates, Laughing the teeniest laugh in the world, And perch on the Grandmother's lap. Butterfly Laughter - Katherine Mansfield
  8. No apologies for posting this again - a favourite of mine for nearly 60 years Stars that seem so close and bright, Watched by lovers through the night, Swim in emptiness, men say, Many a mile and year away. And yonder star that burns so white, May have died to dust and night Ten, maybe, or fifteen year, Before it shines upon my dear. Oh! often among men below, Heart cries out to heart, I know, And one is dust a many years, Child, before the other hears. Heart from heart is all as far, Fafaia, as start from star. Fafaia - Rupert Brooke
  9. TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, 5 The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; 10 I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not Honour more To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars - Colonel Richard Lovelace
  10. Larry McMurtry, author of Lonesome Dove, died on Thursday at age 84. Lonesome Dove is one if a handful of books that, following a single review from one member, became a BGO 'hit'. Thank you Binker!
  11. Birth and death, twin-sister and twin-brother, Night and day, on all things that draw breath, Reign, while time keeps friends with one another Birth and death. Each brow-bound with flowers diverse of wreath, Heaven they hail as father, earth as mother, Faithful found above them and beneath. Smiles may lighten tears, and tears may smother Smiles, for all that joy or sorrow saith: Joy nor sorrow knows not from each other Birth and death. Birth and Death - a roundel by Algernon Charles Swinburne
  12. Thanks tagesmann. I had emailed her on the address she signed up to BGO with, but she may not be using that address now. It's good to know she is on the road to recovery and, presumably, now being in the nice retirement home has fewer anxieties about Dave.
  13. You must prepare your bosom for his knife, said Portia to Antonio in which of Shakespeare's Comedies? Who killed his wife, insane with jealousy? And which Scots witch knew Something wicked this way comes? Who said Is this a dagger which I see? Which Tragedy? Whose blade was drawn which led to Tybalt's death? To whom did dying Caesar say Et tu? And why? Something is rotten in the state of Denmark - do you know what this means? Explain how poetry pursues the human like the smitten moon above the weeping, laughing earth; how we make prayers of it. Nothing will come of nothing: speak again. Said by which King? You may begin. Mrs Schofield's GCSE by Carol Ann Duffy, penned in response to her work being removed from a GCSE curriculum.
  14. Today I have been thinking about Momo. She was another who joined BGO in its first year. A German lady , living in the Netherlands, she was an avid reader and prolific poster. She spoke seven languages, including Esperanto, of which she was an enthusiastic proponent. She suffered from debilitating migraines, and eventually decided she needed to limit her time on the internet, so gave up all internet activity, including BGO, other than her book blog. Every now and again I check to see if she is still writing her blog, and am happy to say she is still reading and posting about books. Just sad that she has not returned here And that has reminded me that we haven't seen anything from momac since before Christmas. She doesn't seem to have posted on the BGO Facebookpage yet this year. Has anyone heard from her in the last three months? Dave, her husband, had been in hospital following a fall, but was back at home when she posted last.
  15. i too remember Adrian, and his sterling work organising the Group Reads each month. I often wonder, still, about his sudden disappearance with neither warning nor explanation. I hope it was just that his life was full of other things, and that he hated goodbyes, not that something untoward had happened to him. I also remember Flingo's work of organising the Children and Young Adult's forum. She is a fount of knowledge on children's literature, and during her five year absence was greatly missed. It was good to see her posting again a few times last year but, although I see that she logged in as recently as last month, she seems to have gone silent again. Claire is another who posted regularly at one time, and brought along he sister Hilary too (I think she introduced Hilary, not the other way round). Claire's long-standing contribution to BGO is The Poetry Chain, now called Poetic Wanderings, which she started way back in March 2005. I keep in irregular contact with her through her facebook page. I too like to think of myself as wise, down-to-earth, no-nonsense, & grandmotherly, thank you jfp, but not sure about the rest of your description. You will see my location underneath my avatar alongside this post. For most of my time on BGO I was living in NW Essex, however I am a Brummie by birth, so I expect you picked up the Midland connection from things I have posted. Nellie also returned, but very briefly last year, aftet a five year absence. She said her robot dogs were still going strong. Squirls also, a brief return after a five year absence. I think Hazel must have sent out a reminder email to some of our missing members last year. Loving Hazel's picture if my idyllic life in (almost rural) Essex - but it wasn't quite like that. Big, damp, draughty old house in an overgrown wildernessof a garden. Admittedly with plenty of wildlife, so she is right about the birds tweeting. Sadly not so much tweeting here, mostly herring gulls squawking! I will probably return to this thread in a day or so, as others' reminiscences nudge my memory into focus.
  16. Back at the end of 2004 I was involved in four book groups, 1 Real Life, and 3 Postal, so why I was looking for an online one is quite beyond me. However, I read of a website called Bookgroup.info, which listed bookgroups of various kinds located around the country. They gave me contact details for Book Group Online, which was just being created by Bill Matthews. I don't recall precisely when or how my inclusion in BGO came about - I'm fairly sure the initial contact was in November 2004, and if I searched really hard I might possibly find the first email from Bill buried somewhere in the bowels of my computer - but my official join date is January 23rd 2005. There weren't very many members back then, so I used to log in daily, and attempt to post an answer to every one of that day's posts to encourage more participation. Most of the members were Bill's family, friends or drinking buddies. Mad Dog and Glory was, I believe, Bill's father. Our youngest member and regular poster, nospacesallowed, then aged 11, and his 14 year old sister Harriet are Bill's nephew and niece. Other names, long absent from these boards, but remembered from the early days, are Just RY, Royal Rother, Deinonychus, and my Friend Jack. Lady Lazarus was a 2004 member, and Grammath joined in January 2005. Having 'met' on BGO, they eventually married, but sadly no longer participate here. As happened with Bill, the joys of family life enticed them away. We also had real, published, author Tom Cox, known here as Top Cat, posting regularly here for a time, but I think he left after the first of our two periods offline. At a time when many online forums were already having trouble with trolling and other unpleasantness, it was a joy to be part of a community that treated the other members with kindness and respect. It was like that from the start, and we have endeavoured to keep it so. As has been said before much of that, in the heyday of BGO, was down to David, who was the epitome of fairmindedness and wisdom. Still sadly missed by all who were here during his time as administrator. More memories to follow as they surface
  17. Hazel was thinking of June, but she hasn't been any more precise about an end date, nor a process for getting there.
  18. To to take it, and keep it, out of the Games, Quizzes and Links forum.
  19. Are these what you want? 2018 Reservoir13 - Jon McGregor ***** Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine: Gail Honeyman ***** In Bitter Chill:: Sarah Ward*** A Deadly Thaw: Sarah Ward*** The Ashes of London: Andrew Taylor**** An English Murder: Cyril Hare** I.Q. - Joe Ide*** Prague Nights - Benjamin Blabck*** Bel Canto - Ann Patchett Smoke and Ashes: Amir Mukherjee**** Love You Dead - Peter James(unfinished) Prisoners of Geography -Tim Marshall (N.F.)***** A Place of Execution - Val McDermid The Heather Blazing - Colm Toibin**** The British in India:Three Centuries of Ambition annd Experience: David Gilmour(N.F.) The Mermaids Singing: Val McDermid 2019 The Seven Deaths of EvelynHardcastle: Stuart Turton - unfinished One Hundred Lyrics and a Poem:Neil Tennant (N. F. ) Scrublands: Chris Hammer Red Harvest: Dashiell Hammett - unfinished A History of Hollywood: David Thomson - unfinished The Dry: Jane Harper The King's Evil: Andrew Taylor The Zig Zag Girl: Elly Griffiths Thomas Cromwell: Diarmaid MacCulloch (N.F.) The Road Home: Rose Tremain Smoke and Mirrors: Elly Griffiths The Blood Card: Elly Griffiths The Cost of Living: Deborah Levy The Vanishing Box: Elly Griffiths Sacred Country: Rose Tremain
  20. We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,- This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties. The opening stanza of We Wear The Mask by Paul Laurence Dunbar The whole poem can be read here
  21. I wish I could, but can no longer sit comfortably to read for long, and an advancing cataract just where i focus on reading makes it just too much like hard work these days.
  22. The Children's War fans might, like me, have missed tagesmann's post in January, heralding the publication of Becoming Them, the very long-awaited third volume of J.N. Stroyar's enthralling trilogy - so I am bumping this thread up to give you all a second chance. If you have not read The Children's War, you have missed a real reading experience.! Have you read Becoming Them yet, tag?
  23. The free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wings in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with fearful trill of the things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom The free bird thinks of another breeze and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own. But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
  24. Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode, The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road. A reeling road, a rolling road, that rambles round the shire, And after him the parson ran, the sexton and the squire; A merry road, a mazy road, and such as we did tread The night we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head I knew no harm of Bonaparte and plenty of the Squire, And for to fight the Frenchman I did not much desire; But I did bash their baggonets because they came arrayed To straighten out the crooked road an English drunkard made, Where you and I went down the lane with ale-mugs in our hands, The night we went to Glastonbury by way of Goodwin Sands. His sins they were forgiven him; or why do flowers run Behind him; and the hedges all strengthening in the sun? The wild thing went from left to right and knew not which was which, But the wild rose was above him when they found him in the ditch. God pardon us, nor harden us; we did not see so clear The night we went to Bannockburn by way of Brighton Pier. My friends, we will not go again or ape an ancient rage, Or stretch the folly of our youth to be the shame of age, But walk with clearer eyes and ears this path that wandereth, And see undrugged in evening light the decent inn of death; For there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen, Before we go to Paradise by way of Kensal Green. The Rolling English Road by G.K.Chesterton
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