Diamonds and Rust

Hands clutching at last piece of driftwood,
Nerves alive in a rigid body,
Waiting for the ultimate wave.

Managed to get a piece of poetry written to befit my mood,but darned if I can get an image posted with the new system.
At the moment I hate WordPress.

Soon it will be time to wear “The Green” again.

And as usual tears will come to my ears when I hear this song;

Oh, Danny boy,the pipes,the pipes are calling,

From glen to glen and down the mountain side.

The summers gone,and all the flowers are dying,

Tis you,Tis you must go and I must bide

But come you back when summers in the meadow,

And when the valley is hushed and white with snow.

Tis I’ll be there in sunshine or in shadow,

Oh, Danny boy,oh danny boy I love you so

And if you come when all the flowers are dying.

And I am dead as dead I well may be,

You’ll come and find the place where I am lying.

And kneel,and say an Ave there for me.

And I shall hear though soft you tread above me,

And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be,

If you’ll not fail to tell me that you love me,

I simply sleep in peace until you come to me

Frederic Weatherly-1848-1929. Words to the tune of Londonderry Air.

I wish my Irish friends far and wide   Slàinte, May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest of your past.

I have an old book that belonged to my Grandmother.

To Dearest Grace with Best Wishes from A.B.

It is called The Birthday Oracle or Whom shall I Marry . Guesses at the character or appearance of your future husband or wife. Arranged for every Day in the Year with Extracts to suit both sexes.

In it my Grandmother noted the names of family or friends opposite the date and the Birthday Oracle to the words of a well known writer.
Yesterday, March 12, my name had been entered in now faded ink and that of an 81 year old Uncle.

“He is more than six feet high,

And fortunate and wise ;

He has a voice of melody,

And beautiful black eyes. -Praed

How true that was about my Uncle.

Tell me a thing she cannot dress, _

Soups,hashes pickles and pies;

Nought comes amiss, she is so wise. -Lloyd

Me? Maybe.

For April 16, The Birthday of my eldest Daughter

Her dress was like the lillies,

And thy heart as pure as they.-Longfellow

How true

May 27. My youngest daughter.

I think there has rarely been a more admirable woman.- O.W.Holmes

And that of a very good friend

His face is fair as heaven,

When Springtime buds unfold.- Blake.

Mmm, probably.

May 3, my Son in Law.

He cannot even essay to walk sedate,

But in his very gait,one sees a jest,

That is ready to break out in spite of all his seeming.-Knowles.

August 14. My Father.

The proudest now is but my peer.

The highest not more high;

Today of all the weary year ,

A King of men am I. -Whittier

Oh,how true.

December31.My Husband.

My own ideal Knight,

Who reverenced his conscience as a King;

Whose glory was redressing human wrongs.- Tennyson.

You may smile,but for me the oracle rings true.

I began the week feeling miserable and depressed although I had no grounds for it.

It wasn’t the lack of sun, central and northern Europe have been enjoying an exceptionally sunny February,but I felt nasty and was being nasty to those around me.

Then I heard within twenty four hours from three friends that I don’t see often.

A woman that I met on a beach in Thailand and found that we had so much in common .

A person far away that has influenced me and who I love so much it hurts.

And someone else who over the years has become more and more a friend to me.

I am so thankful.

This morning a note of paper with this printed on it fell out of a telephone book while I was looking for a number.Someone had sent it to me, I don’t know when with the message; ” It would be great to see you again”.

I’d like to share it with you,

The Circle

A ball is a circle,

No beginning, no end.

It keeps us together

Like our circle of Friends

But the treasure inside

For you to see

Is the treasure of friendship

You ‘ve granted me.

How could I have felt so miserable.

Call a friend.

Hera is calling, and we will return,

Bound with her twine, long faded by Aegean light.

Where blue meets blue she stands and beckons us home.

Two kindred souls,

Mortals yearning for her ethereal world.

Not daunted by passing time

In foreign lands both grey and cold .

The echo of her laughter is heard by fools.

The Club of Rome has indeed been rather quiet lately, they have been reshuffling ideas and goals, one of which I hope is to speak up a bit.They would also like to transfer their headquarters from Hamburg in Germany to Zürich.

On the 24th of February,we now have a referendum in Zürich as to whether the people want to give the Club of Rome 1,82 Million Francs and allow them to move here. The money would be used as a financial help until 2012. Who is paying the rent for the partial use of one of the historic buildings of the city direct on the Limmat River I do not know, it doesn’t really matter anyway 1,82 Million seems like peanuts to me for the possible prestige it could bring us. Think of Davos.!

Naturally they would be profiting from us too; our University with its renowned Environmental Science Department, our Banks, just down the road if they needed a little more support of that kind. An Airport that is an international hub and such a good public transport system so they could say they didn’t need their Mercedes.

On paper the work that the Club of Rome does reads very nicely. I hope that as an International think tank they will have success in Zürich.

I am going to vote yes,and I hope we hear more of them.

“Tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new “

John Milton,1638.

Yesterday was Kobis’ Birthday. No that’s not quite true, his Birthday was actually on Monday the 19th, but he celebrated it yesterday because his Agenda was already full.

It was a special Birthday for him and we felt honoured to be invited. You see Kobi is our neighbour and he is now one year old.

Kobi isn’t his proper name of course,his name is Jakob, but somehow it doesn’t fit into these times and he now answers to Kobi for short, or Kobili, as the Swiss like to put li on the end of words to form the diminutive.

Other friends had been invited of his own age group,the youngest was six monthes old and twice as heavy.But it seemed Kobi preferred older friends who would pick his little toys up when he threw them down. He always rewarded them with a joyous squeak,and the smile of a heartbreaker in the making.

It took me back a good thirty years to when Kobis’ Mother and Uncle were sat on the floor at our house picking things up and eating some of our first one year olds’ Birthday Cake.

How time goes by, it seemed like yesterday.

What will the future hold for Kobi.?

Alas,regardless of their doom,

The little victims play!

No sense have they of ills to come,

No care beyond today.

Thomas Gray; 1716-71 -Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eaton College (1747)

On the eleventh day of November 1918, at the eleventh hour, the Armistice Treaty that ended the the first World War was signed. They hoped it would be the last. It wasn’t.

Next Sunday we will remember those who took part and died in the wars of the last century,and the soldiers who are still dying today for their country right or wrong today.

The last line of Rudyard Kipling’ s poem Recessional is known by all.

The words of his poem apply more than ever today, the third verse especially.

Rudyard Kipling was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature,exactly a hundred years ago. He lost his only son in WWI.

“Far called our navies melt away.

On dune and headland sinks the fire,

Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre.

Judge of the nations, spare us yet,

Lest we forget-lest we forget.

I love Poetry,but I can’t write it.

I might possibly be able to turn out some third rate crime or love story but lines like;

“The sedge has withered from the lake,

and no birds sing.”

Impossible.

I ask myself why I find prose so much easier?

The answer is, maybe one has to be a melancholy sort of person to write something moving,and I am not one of these.
It would be an explanation as to why Ireland has brought forth so many great writers.

Or maybe one has to be nursing a broken heart.

“For the Fallen”

“They shall not grow old,as we who are left grow old,

Age will not weary them,or the years comdemn.

At the going down of the sun,and in the morning,

We will remember them.”
Laurence Binyon .1914

These words were engraved on a wooden plaque fixed to a wall of the Aula in one of my first schools. Underneath was a large wooden plaque telling us the names of Teachers and Pupils from Stepgates who had fallen in two world wars.

On November the 11th we will remember the fallen again. Some of us may wear a red poppy, others will just remember.

In London an ageing Queen will lay a wreath at the foot of the Cenotaph in Whitehall, and a handfull of Veterans will try and straighten their backs, shakingly salute, and with tears in their eyes march by.

Britain, the Commonwealth, and the USA will remember the Armistice, of 1918 and in many Churches services will be held to this purpose.

But according to an article in a London paper last Saturday,there are members of the Clergy who feel they can’t hold these services any more because they conflict with the ideolgy and lives of congregational members from other countries and cultures living in Britain. Must we all forget.?

“In Flanders’ field the poppies grow,

between the Crosses row on row.

We shall not sleep though Poppies grow

in Flanders’ fields.”

Lt,Col. John Mc Crea . Canadian Army 1872-1915