AnglishLit

Summer time and my town is dead

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Sun, 06 Mar 2011 10:09:00 +0000

Summer time is here again

The weather is appalling

The days are dark and damp again

The snow and rain is falling

Remembrance of the days gone by

When summers were all sunny

And days that seemed to last a week

And the weather wasn’t runny

Remember sitting in the sun

Into the evening cool

And drinking that iced tea

That had become lukewarm

Remember wearing nice light clothes

That kept the sun at bay

And sleeping in the buff at night

And having sweet repose

Remember when the morning sun

Was gentle in the room

And now the morning light

Is dark and full of gloom

Remember when the days were long

With light and gentle breezes

And birds would gather in a throng

And didn’t sit and sneeze-es

What happened to those summer days?

Where did it all go wrong?

Was it all a dream I had?

Those summer days of song

Or is it just a memory

Of days that didn’t happen

Is it just a dream I had

Of summers in the mind

Maybe it’s because of age

Of times that have gone past

Maybe it’s a wish I have

To make the summer last

The smell of roses hanging heavy

The sound of bees on their duty

The scent of summer in the air

An aroma now so rare

But summer time is here again

We watch and wait and cope

We watch the rain and snow come down

But still we live in hope

In hope that summer will arrive

And warm our tired bodies

And drift through our tired minds

Our spirits to revive

© Angus Dei 2010

A requiem for my town |

My Town is dead

My town has died and that’s no lie

It’s been killed off by “them”

It used to be so busy

But now the shopping’s lousy

It took ten years to kill it off

And now the well’s run dry

There is no longer a supply

Of shops to fill your basket

My town is dead they killed it off

And now it’s in its casket

The empty shops scream out for help

The shutters are endemic

The traders have all gone away

The rot it seems systemic

The egress from the shops

Appears to be pandemic

My town has died “they” killed it off

What am I to do?

I find it hard to understand

My mind it can’t construe

What “they” have done to my town

How “they” have killed it off

My town is poor in heart and soul

While “they” feed from the trough

My town is dead “they” killed it off

And now there’s nothing left

“They” carry on as if it lives

And leave us all bereft

Angus

Down in the dumps

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Sun, 06 Mar 2011 10:07:00 +0000

I must go down to the dump today

To the dump with those big bins

You see I’ve got a skip full

Of rubbish for my sins

The ultimate sin I did commit

It’s all my fault I will admit

I hid it all away you see

And when I looked

I guarantee that it had bred

And made much more

And rubbish I have now galore

Three times as much as before

Its in the loft, it’s in the shed

And some of it is neath the bed

It’s in the cupboards and the draws

It really has to go because

The house is full to overflowing

There’s old TVs and computer monitors

There’s a pile of bits that give me horrors

There’s bits of wood and some old carpet

And a box of stuff that gives me fits

There’s garden waste and broken things

A microwave that never pings

There’s motherboards and old laptops

Which would be more use as doorstops

There’s a bunch of stuff I’ve never seen

And tatty clothes I’ll never clean

And even stuff that came from Rome

There’s far too much to keep at home

So to the dump it has to go

Before it starts to grow and grow

The only snag is that although

To move it all I am unsure

Because I know what will ensue

I’ll go and get even more

Rubbish to accrue

©Angus Dei 2010

It went and gone and did it

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Sun, 06 Mar 2011 10:06:00 +0000

They said it would and it did

The snow came down to make us skid

Across the roads and down the lanes

It stopped the traffic and the trains

It stopped the airports and the stations

An inch of snow has stopped the nation

That’s all it takes to make us stop
No work today no way to shop

The powers that be had one whole day

To keep the white stuff at bay

To grit the roads and grit the rails

But all we hear are sad sad tales

Of people trapped in deep snow drifts

And cars trapped in deep snow rifts

Of black ice here and black ice there

To catch the traveller if they dare

To venture out into the weather

And not fall down, we cling together

And fight our way through wind and flakes

And try not to make mistakes

That sends us tumbling to the ground

Or motors that spin round and round

To try to get to where we’re going
Through all the white stuff that is blowing

It happens every year you see

That bit of weather fit for skies

They know it’s coming but do nothing

And just because it’s bloody snowing

Angus

Mcavity the mystery cat

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Sun, 06 Mar 2011 10:05:00 +0000

This reminds me of my own bad tempered, moaning Mog.

By T S Eliot

Macavity's a Mystery Cat:he's called the Hidden Paw

For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.

He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:

For when they reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there!

Macavity, Macavity, there's no on like Macavity,

He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.

His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,

And when you reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there!

You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air--

But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!

Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;

You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.

His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;

His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.

He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;

And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,

For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.

You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square--

But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!

He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)

And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.

And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,

Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,

Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair--

Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!

And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty's gone astray,

Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,

There may be a scap of paper in the hall or on the stair--

But it's useless of investigate--Macavity's not there!

And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:

"It must have been Macavity!"--but he's a mile away.

You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,

Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,

There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.

He always has an alibit, or one or two to spare:

And whatever time the deed took place--MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!

And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known

(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)

Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time

Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

Good old macavity.

Angus

My old Pussy

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Sun, 06 Mar 2011 10:03:00 +0000

Deaf as a post and warm as toast

One brain cell all alone

Eats like a horse but won’t touch hay

Screams and screams and screams all day

Always there, never gone

On my lap a huge great yawn

Wriggles and shuffles all the time

Purring with a voice sublime

She’s my friend, companion

Always there, never gone

On the sofa, on the bed

Even sleeps upon my head

Rules the roost, she’s in charge

Her presence is by and large

All encompassing, not a scourge

Her love for me does not submerge

My love for her, we are well matched

Grumpy, stubborn and old farts

The day will come when we will part

But till then we both are stuck

With each other, sod the luck

She screams, I shout, she ignores; I pout

She leaves me “presents” throughout the house

Ignores her dirt box and newspaper

And struts about like a crusader

Proud and feline, graceful too

And every day we start anew

The battle of cat, and man, and poo

Small in body, large in presence

Cat completely in her essence

Needs me when she is cold

Or hungry, or just feeling old

My old Pussy is a pain

But love for me she doesn’t feign

And when she sits and looks at me

With eyes so blue and face so dark

I know that soon we will embark

Upon another Pussy lark

To see who is superior, who is in charge

Whose territory will be enlarged

I lose each time we pit our wits

She has me beaten I will admit

But deep down I don’t mind

Cat is superior to mankind

Faithful, true and ever loving

Never taking, always giving

My old Pussy is the best

I feel quite humble, even blessed

That she would want to stay with me

Through all the years I must agree

We go together like a pair

Of bookends beyond compare

I love my Pussy, she loves me

There’s just the two of us you see

But why, oh why, oh why does she

Wind me up so easily?

Angus

It went and gone and did it

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 08:54:00 +0000

They said it would and it did
The snow came down to make us skid
Across the roads and down the lanes
It stopped the traffic and the trains

It stopped the airports and the stations
An inch of snow has stopped the nation
That’s all it takes to make us stop
No work today no way to shop

The powers that be had one whole day
To keep the white stuff at bay
To grit the roads and grit the rails
But all we hear are sad sad tales

Of people trapped in deep snow drifts
And cars trapped in deep snow rifts
Of black ice here and black ice there
To catch the traveller if they dare

To venture out into the weather
And not fall down, we cling together
And fight our way through wind and flakes
And try not to make mistakes

That sends us tumbling to the ground
Or motors that spin round and round
To try to get to where we’re going
Through all the white stuff that is blowing

It happens every year you see
That bit of weather fit for skies
They know it’s coming but do nothing
And just because it’s bloody snowing

Angus

©AngusDei2009

It’s snowing

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 12:06:00 +0000

It seems the Met Office is in the know
They got it right it’s started to snow
It’s coming down in dribs and drabs
And my attention it has grabbed

There’s not a lot as some would say
And it really isn’t here to stay
It melts as soon as hits the land
And really doesn’t look too grand

But snow they said and snow it is
Although it hasn’t got much whizz
It makes the garden look quite nice
But not enough to me entice

To leave my nice warm room
And dig out my trusty snow broom
To sweep away this rather sad
Layer of flakes but I am glad

To see the white flakes coming down
And lying whitely on the ground
To make a snowman I can not do
Nor will my nose turn blue

Because as I write this ditty
The snow has stopped and there’s a pity
No snow ball fights, no wellies on
Because the snow you see has gone

Angus

©Angus Dei 2009

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 09:31:00 +0000

It has been a while since I posted on this blog, and with the chance of snow in the air I thought this may be appropriate.

Snow Day by Billy Collins

Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,
its white flag waving over everything,
the landscape vanished,
not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,
and beyond these windows

the government buildings smothered,
schools and libraries buried,
the post office lostunder the noiseless drift,
the paths of trains softly blocked,t
he world fallen under this falling.

In a while I will put on some boots
and step out like someone walking in water,
and the dog will porpoise through the drifts,
and I will shake a laden branch,
sending a cold shower down on us both.

But for now I am a willing prisoner in this house,
a sympathizer with the anarchic cause of snow.
I will make a pot of tea
and listen to the plastic radio on the counter,
as glad as anyone to hear the news

that the Kiddie Corner School is closed,
the Ding-Dong School, closed,
the All Aboard Children's School, closed,
the Hi-Ho Nursery School, closed,
along with -- some will be delighted to hear -

-the Toadstool School, the Little School
,Little Sparrows Nursery School,
Little Stars Pre-School, Peas-and-Carrots Day School,
the Tom Thumb Child Center, all closed,
and -- clap your hands -- the Peanuts Play School.

So this is where the children hide all day,
These are the nests where they letter and draw,
where they put on their bright miniature jackets,
all darting and climbing and sliding,
all but the few girls whispering by the fence.

And now I am listening hard
in the grandiose silence of the snow,
trying to hear what those three girls are plotting,
what riot is afoot,
which small queen is about to be brought down.

Time to get the wellies out.

Angus

Angus Dei on all and sundry

Angus Dei-NHS-THE OTHER SIDE

Angus Dei politico

Macavity - The Mystery Cat

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 10:34:00 +0000

This reminds me of my own bad tempered, moaning Mog.

By T S Eliot

Macavity's a Mystery Cat:he's called the Hidden Paw

For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.

He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:

For when they reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there!

Macavity, Macavity, there's no on like Macavity,

He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.

His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,

And when you reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there!

You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air--

But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!

Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;

You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.

His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;

His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.

He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;

And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,

For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.

You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square--

But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!

He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)

And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.

And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,

Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,

Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair--

Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!

And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty's gone astray,

Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,

There may be a scap of paper in the hall or on the stair--

But it's useless of investigate--Macavity's not there!

And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:

"It must have been Macavity!"--but he's a mile away.

You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,

Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macacity,

There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.

He always has an alibit, or one or two to spare:

And whatever time the deed took place--MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!

And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known

(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)

Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time

Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

Good old macavity.

Angus

Angus Dei on all and sundry

Angus Dei-NHS-THE OTHER SIDE

Angus Dei politico

I’ve not been well you know

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 08:32:00 +0000

I’ve had the Porky flu this week
The outlook it was very bleak
Until the Pork Flu site I found
And now I feel my health is sound

I got my meds from my flu friend
And with my Lemsips made a blend
That kept the nasty bug at bay
To live to post another day

I must admit it did feel bad
But now I feel a bit more glad
I’m out of bed and on the sofa
Instead of sleep I can just loaf

Around in comfort in my home
For three more days before I roam
Again into the world outside
Without a Flu Friend for a guide

It’s good to feel OK again
Because the Pork Flu is a bane
It’s good to write to some degree
Although some readers might disagree

Porky Flu can mar your week
And really make the future bleak
But Tamiflu came to the rescue
Or maybe not, you could argue

Angus

© Angus Dei

Angus Dei on all and sundry

Angus Dei-NHS-THE OTHER SIDE

Angus Dei politico

We To Sigh Instead of Sing

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 08:51:00 +0000

By James Whitcomb Riley

Thought this would be apt.

"Rain and rain! And rain and rain!"

Yesterday we muttered

Grimly as the grim refrain

That the thunders uttered:

All the heavens under cloud -

All the sunshine sleeping;

All the grasses limply bowed

With their weight of weeping.

Sigh and sigh! And sigh and sigh!

Never end of sighing;

Rain and rain for our reply -

Hopes half drowned and dying;

Peering through the window-pane,

Naught but endless raining -

Endless sighing, and as vain,

Endlessly complaining,

Shine and shine! And shine and shine!

Ah! To-day the splendor!

All this glory yours and mine -

God! But God is tender!

We to sigh instead of sing,

Yesterday, in sorrow,

While the Lord was fashioning

This for our To-morrow!

Bloody rain!

Angus

Angus Dei on all and sundry

Angus Dei-NHS-THE OTHER SIDE

Angus Dei politico

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 11:38:00 +0000

After posting about good old “ratty” on Angus Dei on all and sundry it reminded of the poem by Robbie Burns.

So here it is:

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie,
O what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startleAt me,
thy poor earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request:
I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,
And never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin':
And naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin
'Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste
An' weary winter comin' fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble
An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promised joy.

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But, oh! I backward cast my e'e
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

Angus Dei on all and sundry

Angus Dei-NHS-THE OTHER SIDE

Angus Dei politico

A Poem For Those Over 50 with a computer

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 08:50:00 +0000

A computer was something on TV
From a science fiction show of note
A window was something you hated to clean
And ram was the cousin of a goat.

Meg was the name of my girlfriend
And gig was a job for the nights
Now they all mean different things
And that really mega bites.

An application was for employment
A program was a TV show
A curser used profanity
A keyboard was a piano.

Memory was something that you lost with age
A CD was a bank account
And if you had a 3 inch floppy
You hoped nobody found out.

Compress was something you did to the garbage
Not something you did to a file.
And if you unzipped anything in public
You'd be in jail for awhile.

Log on was adding wood to the fire
Hard drive was a long trip on the road
A mouse pad was where a mouse lived
And a back up happened to your commode.

Cut you did with a pocket knife.
Paste you did with glue
A web was a spider's home
And a virus was the flu.

I guess I'll stick to my pad and paper
And the memory in my head
I hear nobody's been killed in a computer crash
But when it happens, they'll wish they were dead.

Author Unknown

Angus Dei on all and sundry

Angus Dei-NHS-THE OTHER SIDE

Angus Dei politico

A walk in the rain

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 11:26:00 +0000

I’ve just been out for a walk in the rain
Up the road and down the lane
A gale was blowing the rain was flowing
And my brolly turned inside out

My boots are soaking my socks are dripping
Through my mac the rain was ripping
My hair’s awry but I will defy
The weather from the sky

I was blown along by the wind so strong
As I flew down the lane at speed
Cause the rain in my face made my heart race
I’m glad that I went I concede

My clothes are all wet but I won’t fret
They’ll dry out soon enough
The weather’s no threat
To the joy that I found galloping along the ground

I’m back home now in the warm and the calm
And watch the rain through the glass
It’s nice to be out of the rainy storm
But I hope that feeling lasts

Of the wind in my hair
And the rain on my face
The trees whipping back and forth
And the feel of natures strength

It struck a chord did that rainy walk
Of days that now have gone
Of walks in the rain with another
But now I walk alone

©Angus Dei

Laugh And Be Merry

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 12:22:00 +0000

Laugh And Be Merry

By John Masefield

Laugh and be merry, remember, better the world with a song,
Better the world with a blow in the teeth of a wrong.
Laugh, for the time is brief, a thread the length of a span.
Laugh and be proud to belong to the old proud pageant of man.

Laugh and be merry: remember, in olden time.
God made Heaven and Earth for joy He took in a rhyme,
Made them, and filled them full with the strong red wine of
His mirth
The splendid joy of the stars: the joy of the earth.

So we must laugh and drink from the deep blue cup of the sky,
Join the jubilant song of the great stars sweeping by,
Laugh, and battle, and work, and drink of the wine outpoured
In the dear green earth, the sign of the joy of the Lord.

Laugh and be merry together, like brothers akin,
Guesting awhile in the rooms of a beautiful inn,
Glad till the dancing stops, and the lilt of the music ends.
Laugh till the game is played; and be you merry, my friends.

Some proper poetry

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 08:01:00 +0000

To give you a rest from my inane scribblings, a proper piece of writing by Lewis Carroll.

Jabberwocky

'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 wiffling 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! f
rabjous 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.

Angus Dei on all and sundry

Angus Dei-NHS-THE OTHER SIDE

Angus Dei politico

The Binge Drinker

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 07:38:00 +0000

Slumped invisible in the gutter
Mingling unknown with the litter
Pants awash with stale urine
Last nights Donna on the chest
Blinking at the slate grey sky
Seeing dogs’ mess eye to eye

Stumbling home to go to bed
Blood oozing from a damaged head
Liver hurting, bowels unleashed
The last of dignity breached
Brain throbbing, face flaccid
Throat sore from stomach acid

Creeping up the stairs to sanctuary
Mouth feeling like a columbary
Fall into the welcoming duvet
No strength to wash, no sense to care
Fall asleep with blood soaked hair
Curled up in the filthy lair

Awake at noon and have a shower
Clean clothes on, and feel empowered
To go again and have some fun
To drink and drink, the nights begun
Fifteen vodkas ten more unknown
This time though the livers blown

To A and E, carried in
Concern about the yellow skin
Diagnosis given with no feeling
Not much hope of proper healing
Life was fine, life was free
But this young girl is twenty three

Mother’s crying, dad’s in shock
Daughter’s face the hue of chalk
Prognosis given, no hope there
All say that it is so unfair
Blame the clubs, blame the pubs
No sympathy from those in scrubs

Self inflicted they all say
Abstinence would keep at bay
The waste of life, it’s clear to see
That this young girl would have a life
With no pain and parent’s grief
Her life would not be so brief

Too late for her, too late for them
No point in trying to condemn
Empty place at the table
No more music no more fun
A life extinguished before begun
The lifestyle of youth today

But having fun will still hold sway

Angus

© Angus Dei

The Whale

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 09:10:00 +0000

The Whale it seems is in decline
There’s not so many in the brine
Although they talk and sing to mates
Their future is in dire straights
Unless hunting of them by us
Ceases or at least abates

The Whale it seems aint doing fine
There’s not so many in the brine
We kill them off for our delight
And put them in an awful plight
We turn them into oil and steaks
And all we do for Whales is take

The Whale it seems will need a shrine
There’s not so many in the brine
We kill them off by our design
And leave their bones to sink down deep
With no responsibility to keep
These wondrous animals alive

The Whale it seems is nearly gone
And soon will come a blood red dawn
When there are no more Whales to see
No Blues, Bowhead or Humpback
No more Beaked. Ginko or Fin
All will perish through our sin

Physeteridae, Kogiidae and Monodontidae
Will in the brine no longer be
No more breaching, no more song
No more pods all in a throng
No more Orcas or Dolphins there
In the brine for all to share

The Whale it seems is in decline
There’s not so many in the brine
Although no harm to us they make
Their future is in dire straights
Unless hunting of them by us
Ceases or at least abates

© Angus Dei

Angus Dei on all and sundry

Angus Dei-NHS-THE OTHER SIDE

Angus Dei politico

Beautiful Soup

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 07:58:00 +0000

As the weather is getting colder, I thought that this would be appropriate.

Lewis Carroll

Beautiful Soup

BEAUTIFUL Soup, so rich and green,

Waiting in a hot tureen!

Who for such dainties would not stoop?

Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!

Beau--ootiful Soo-oop!

Soo--oop of the e--e--evening,

Beautiful, beautiful Soup!

Beautiful Soup! Who cares for fish,

Game, or any other dish?

Who would not give all else for two

Pennyworth only of Beautiful Soup?

Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?

Beau--ootiful Soo-oop!

Soo--oop of the e--e--evening,

Beautiful, beauti--FUL SOUP!

Yum, Yum!

Angus Dei on all and sundry

Angus Dei-NHS-THE OTHER SIDE

Angus Dei politico

What If

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 10:48:00 +0000

What If

What if it only rained at night
And days were clear and bright
What if time would just stand still
And people ate their fill
What if countries all got on
And used brains instead of brawn

What if earth still had her lungs
And we all spoke in tongues
What if no one lived in fear
And life was still held dear
What if winter never came
And no one lived in shame

What if all cars ran for free
And we could all agree
What if money was unneeded
And pain never went unheeded
What if age was seen as wisdom
And each person had their own kingdom

What if we could live forever
And still remain as clever
What if trains were free to use
And there was no abuse
What if shopping was a pleasure
And life was full of leisure

What if all the Governments cared
And all the wealth was shared
What if computers always worked
And never went berserk
What if greasy food was good for us
Would we eat them with no fuss

What if, what if, you ask
It’s quite an impossible task
To know what if occurred
If what if should excur
To all our lives and all our drives
Would happiness derive

© Angus Dei

The pencil and the snail

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 08:10:00 +0000

The pencil

The pencil is a wondrous thing
It draws lines thick
And draws lines thin
It goes to there and back again
And fills up paper
That was plain

And when it’s blunt
You can re sharpen
At the back or at the front
And scribble on again
With a pencil you can erase
So your scribble’s no disgrace

Some are black and some are blue
Some are in another hue
And all of them are made of wood
Through the years it has withstood
And on one end you can chew
Let’s hope we never say adieu

The pencil is a wondrous thing
It draws lines thick
And draws lines thin
It goes to there and back again
And fills up paper
That was plain

©Angus Dei

The Snail

The snail it has a life that’s fine
Gliding along on a stream of slime
It hides from sight among my plants
And feeds it’s fill as if in a trance

The snail does what it wants you see
It doesn’t care bout you and me
It eats the young shoots not the old
It doesn’t need to be cajoled

It can devour a plant at night
And makes the garden look a sight
It eats from crown down to the root
So I just squash it underfoot

In the land of the Bumbley Boo

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 09:53:00 +0000

In the land of the Bumbley Boo

The People are red white and blue,

They never blow noses,

Or ever wear closes,

What a sensible thing to do!

In the land of the Bumbley Boo

You can buy Lemon pie at the zoo;

They give away foxes

In little Pink Boxes

And Bottles of Dandylion Stew.

In the land of the Bumbley Boo

You never see a Gnu,

But thousands of cats

Wearing trousers and hats

Made of Pumpkins and Pelican Glue!

Chorus

Oh, the Bumbley Boo! the Bumbley Boo!

That's the place for me and you!

So hurry! Let's run!

The train leaves at one!

For the land of the Bumbley Boo!

The wonderful Bumbley Boo-Boo-Boo!

The Wonderful Bumbley BOO!!!

Spike Milligan

The Widower

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 09:25:00 +0000

Rudyard Kipling

For a season there must be pain

For a little, little space

I shall lose the sight of her face,

Take back the old life again

While She is at rest in her place.

For a season this pain must endure,

For a little, little while

I shall sigh more often than smile

Till time shall work me a cure,

And the pitiful days beguile.

For that season we must be apart,

For a little length of years,

Till my life's last hour nears,

And, above the beat of my heart,

I hear Her voice in my ears.

But I shall not understand

Being set on some later love,

Shall not know her for whom I strove,

Till she reach me forth her hand,

Saying, "Who but I have the right?"

And out of a troubled night

Shall draw me safe to the land.

That time of life

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 10:53:00 +0000

I came across this on my stagger around the WWW today, and thought it apt for those of us who are at a certain age.

Senile Virus

Send the same email twice
Emails are sent blank
No emails are sent to the right person
It makes you forward the mail back to the person who sent it to you
Libel to reply to people who mails you in error
Emails are sent to people you don’t know
Virus checkers quarantine your out going emails
It makes you forget to attach the attachments
Read emails are deleted before you’ve replied to them
Unread emails are sent straight to the trash
Send the email before you've finished typing it

The same applies to texting.

Angus

Angus Dei on all and sundry

Angus Dei-NHS-THE OTHER SIDE

Angus Dei politico

Procrastination-again

noreply@blogger.com (Angus) — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 09:46:00 +0000

I haven’t posted here for a few days, I think it is the time of year, the “summer” has gone, the trees are changing and my reserves of energy seem to have run out.

But here is a poem By Thomas Bailey Aldrich which looks forward to spring.

When first the crocus thrusts its point of gold

Up through the still snow-drifted garden mould,

And folded green things in dim woods unclose

Their crinkled spears, a sudden tremor goes

Into my veins and makes me kith and kin

To every wild-born thing that thrills and blows.

Sitting beside this crumbling sea-coal fire,

Here in the city's ceaseless roar and din,

Far from the brambly paths I used to know,

Far from the rustling brooks that slip and shine

Where the Neponset alders take their glow,

I share the tremulous sense of bud and briar And inarticulate ardors of the vine.

And one By Denis Florence MacCarthy about the autumn.

I can’t find a picture of the poet, only a gravestone.

The weary, dreary, dripping rain,

From morn till night, from night till morn,

Along the hills and o'er the plain,

Strikes down the green and yellow corn;

The flood lies deep upon the ground,

No ripening heat the cold sun yields,

And rank and rotting lies around

The glory of the summer fields!

How full of fears, how racked with pain,

How torn with care the heart must be,

Of him who sees his golden grain

Laid prostrate thus o'er lawn and lea;

For all that nature doth desire,

All that the shivering mortal shields,

The Christmas fare, the winter's fire,

All comes from out the summer fields.

I too have strayed in pleasing toil

Along youth's and fertile meads;

I too within Hope's genial soil

Have, trusting, placed Love's golden seeds;

I too have feared the chilling dew,

The heavy rain when thunder pealed,

Lest Fate might blight the flower that grew

For me in Hope's green summer field.

Ah! who can paint that beauteous flower,

Thus nourished by celestial dew,

Thus growing fairer, hour by hour,

Delighting more, the more it grew;

Bright'ning, not burdening the ground,

Nor proud with inward worth concealed,

But scattering all its fragrance round

Its own sweet sphere, its summer field!

At morn the gentle flower awoke,

And raised its happy face to God;

At evening, when the starlight broke,

It bending sought the dewy sod;

And thus at morn, and thus at even,

In fragrant sighs its heart revealed,

Thus seeking heaven, and making heaven

Within its own sweet summer field!

Oh! joy beyond all human joy!

Oh! bliss beyond all earthly bliss!

If pitying Fate will not destroy

My hopes of such a flower as this!

How happy, fond, and heaven-possest,

My heart will be to tend and shield,

And guard upon my grateful breast

The pride of that sweet summer field!

Funny time of year isn't it?

Angus

Angus Dei on all and sundry

Angus Dei-NHS-THE OTHER SIDE

Angus Dei politico