ULYSSES by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Come my friends,

'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. 

Push off, and sitting well in order smite 

the sounding furrows; for my purpose holds 

To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 

Of all the western stars, until I die. 

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down; 

It may be that we shall touch the Happy Isles, 

And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. 

Though much is taken, much abides; and though 

We are not now that strength which in old days 

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are--- 

One equal temper of heroic hearts, 

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

THE LADY OF SHALOTT

On either side the river lie  Long fields of barley and of rye,  That clothe the wold and meet the sky;  And through the field the road run by  To many-tower'd Camelot;  And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott.  Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Through the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. Only reapers, reaping early, In among the beared barley Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly; Down to tower'd Camelot; And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy The Lady of Shalott." There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care heat she, The Lady of Shalott. And moving through a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot; And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two. She hath no loyal Knight and true, The Lady of Shalott. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often through the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, went to Camelot; Or when the Moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed. "I am half sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott. A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott. His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott. In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining. Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And around about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott. And down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seer in a trance, Seeing all his ownmischance - With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott. Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darkened wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame, And around the prow they read her name, The Lady of Shalott. Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot; But Lancelot mused a little space He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott." .  Alfred Lord Tennyson

PARK BENCHES HAVE THE BEST KEPT SECRETS

PARK BENCHES HAVE THE BEST KEPT SECRETS


They sit there in all sorts of weather
And the paint is often blistered,
The keepers of the secrets
Over time and ages whispered.
The same park bench used many times
By many generations
People from all around the world
From very many nations.


Oh if they could only talk
The stories they would recall
Of the days when little children
Would sit there after a fall.
Their mothers would sit and chatter
With babies asleep in their arms
Watching the children run and play
And keeping them from harm.


The children grew and life was changed
Then teenage sweethearts sat there
The Park Bench listened to the whispers
About the love and care.
Talk of the future was often spoken
And there were diamond rings,
A house, a car a family was planned
Among so many things.


Lovers now spend time there
On a quiet romantic tryst
Wondering who will see them
And if they will be missed.
The Park Bench holds the secrets
Of the man and woman there,
Leaves blow past and a cold wind blows
And chill is in the air.


A woman alone now shed her tears
The Park bench will softly sigh
The woman wonders why alone
The Park bench knows the reason why.
Park Benches have the best kept secrets
And can never ever tell
Over many generations
They have kept the stories well.


And older couple now sit there
With children at their side,
The Park bench recognizes them
And sees it as part of life's ride.
Seasons come and seasons go
Grandparents now spending time
The Park Bench keeps the secrets
Of the days of loss and pain.


A lonely figure slowly walks
And stops to breath again,
Faltering steps and a walking stick
Mean days of aches and pain.
She sits upon the Park Bench
Pours out her sorrow and grief
Life itself is very fragile
And the wind catches the leaf.


Park Benches have the best kept secrets
Of the love and the laughter and tears,
They have seen the generations
And listened to the outpouring of fears,
They have shared long lunches
Heard the hopes and plans and pain
In sunshine and in shadow
And in days of winter rain.


"Park Benches have the best kept secrets."


© Linda J. Vaughan
17th. February 2012

INVICTUS - unconquered soul.

INVICTUS *

" Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. " ©  William Ernest Henley  * This is a piece of importance.

CLANCY OF THE OVERFLOW

At Joseph's request I am posting this wonderful renowned Australian Poem.

CLANCY OF THE OVERFLOW

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better

Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,

He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,

Just "on spec", addressed as follows, "Clancy, of The Overflow".

And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,

(And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar)

Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:

"Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are."

In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy

Gone a-droving "down the Cooper" where the Western drovers go;

As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,

For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him

In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,

And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,

And at night the wond'rous glory of the everlasting stars.

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy

Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,

And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city

Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle

Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,

And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,

Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me

As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,

With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,

For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy,

Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,

While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal —

But I doubt he'd suit the office, Clancy, of "The Overflow".

by A.B. (Banjo) Paterson

BECAUSE LIFE NEEDS AN ANCHOR

BECAUSE LIFE NEEDS AN ANCHOR

 

Because life needs an anchor
This promise I'll make
To stand right beside you
Should your world start to shake.
I promise to be there
When strong billows roll,
To hold you so gently
When life takes it's toll.

 

Because life needs an anchor
That anchor I'll be
I'll hold tight to your hand
As you're tossed on the sea.
I promise to listen
And hear of your pain
As the anchor rope tightens
And then starts to strain.

 

Because life needs an anchor
When winds start to moan,
I promise you comfort
As we listen to it groan.
I promise you victory
As you hold on to my hand
Because life needs an anchor,
Buried deep in the sand.

 

Because life needs an anchor
Should your boat begin to drift
I promise you safe harbour
When the sands of life shift.
I will light the stars for you
In a black and velvet sky
I promise you a safe journey
As the days of life go by.

 

Because life needs an anchor
A chart and compass too
Together let's take the journey
And view the horizon new.
Hear the lapping of the water
As the tides of life rise and fall
View the soaring of the sea birds
And hear their plaintive call.

 

Because life needs an anchor
Let's journey on together
With the salt sea mist on our faces
In fair and squally weather.
Three things to hold on to
Are love, hope and trust
Because life needs an anchor
Onward, together we must.

 

Because life needs an anchor
And a harbour in which to rest
I will be the harbour you return to
When life has put you to the test.
I'll ease the fears that beset you
Set you straight and stand you tall,
I will be the anchor of your life,
When your back's against the wall.

 

Because life needs an anchor.

 

© Linda J. Vaughan
February 14th. 2012

MARKET FRESH

MARKET FRESH

Shopping at the Supermart

Is most convenient.

It’s clean and tidy, neat and bright

And money quickly spent.

Fruit and flowers and vegetables,

Pasta and sauces and more

But the Market’s the place for me

Of this I am so sure.

I love to walk up and down the aisles

To look and smell and taste.

Exotic fruits and vegetables ~

It can’t be done in haste.

The fragrance of coffees, cheeses and such,

Onions, cauliflower, broccoli and more.

Ginger and mango, passionfruit and peaches

Some brought from a foreign shore.

Garlic, tomatoes, strawberries fresh

Cucumber, lettuce and peas.

Beans and radish, celery and cabbage

Herbs to enhance the flavour of these.

Carrots, zucchini and parsnip and pumpkin

Apples, bananas and purple aubergine.

Pineapple, watermelon and pawpaw

And grapes that are purple and green.

Continental meats and salamis all strung

And hanging in a row ~sliced as you will.

Bacon and ham from the bone, sausages too

Many little treats for all to taste at will.

Every kind of fish you could imagine

Cutlets, some filleted and some whole.

Prawns and crabs and crayfish

Octopus and whiting and some sole.

Chicken and turkey, pheasant and quail

Exotic poultry such as you please.

Kangaroo and venison ~

An acquired taste for these.

Sweets from England and Indian teas,

Spices and tastes so sublime.

Cashews and peanuts and pecan nuts too

Coffees from a distant clime.

Cakes and tortes and delicious gateaux

Pastries and such sweet delights.

Chocolates, and candies and jellies and toffee

All part of the wonderful sights.

So when I visit the market I like to take my time

To drink in the sights and the pleasure.

The aromas and fragrance and sounds

I store these in my memory treasure.

Visiting the market with its hustle and bustle

Is like a world tour to me. I journey and I find

That I can tour distant shores and places

In the Market of my Mind.

© Linda J. Vaughan