All entries for Tuesday 07 June 2005
June 07, 2005
Published by Pomegranate Artbooks
Bow 6099, Rohnert Park, California 94927 in association with Curved Space UK Ltd. and Increfible Images Inc., 1993
Illusrations and text copywrighted 1993 Pactrick Woodroffe
To trade your plumage or your face,
For when such change becomes contagious
The consequence can prove outrageous!
And get the things they think they want,
They’s still be bored with what they’d got
And changing places quite a lot.
Heaven knows! said the hedgebank nun.
“Kill me now,” said the last fairy, “for I cannot kill myself.”
The rainbow broke in the sky.
No rain, no hail, no snow. The long-dead forests burned in root and branch, the last snail baked within his house.
“The rainbow's broken in the sky, your kingdom is dead from end to end. Beltempest sleep forever.”
A sword for England and St. George.
Thy pruning hook I’ll borrow
To make an arrow.
Writing about web page http://blogs.warwick.ac.uk/images/stuecs/2005/06/08/alicia_and_sarah.jpgAlicia’s delice were her eyes made of jade,
And Sarah’s hair fluttered like split orangeade
Their blouses were gaped by a curious breeze
And, not knowing they did it, the temptresses teased.
And as the sea whitened on the rocks below
He glimsped nothing but a peeping verge
Where naught is writ.
For his daughter was as deaf as a field of rye;
Having ears in plenty but hearing naught,
How else might a suitable suitor be caught?
As the father says softly by way of reply:
“That tadpoles may drown, you’d better believe
For the world has no sympathy for the naïve.”
For best expressed is God in thee;
And did he not through nature speak,
I’d know him by thy tender cheek.
No image do I need of thee;
For every painter seems to lease
Thy face for every altar-piece.
Untroubled by the bell,
And she shall rise no more
To kiss me as before.
And real as any world can ever be,
For are not all worlds in the head?
“And has not every sheep its own eyes,” he cried,
“Yet every flock a sheperd?”
And its jaws shall be locked with a key;
Then the snake must recoil
And return to the soil,
As the rain must return to the sea.
From his search at the end of the aisle;
She was not in the shrine
In the bread or the wine,
But outside… by a cliff… on a stile!
It’s as blessed to take as to give.
And the dragon is blameless when stealing our fruit
For the duty of beasts is to live.
Permission to nest in the eaves;
Shall the crust from your bread or the milk on your step
Be denied to the prettiest thieves?
And the prettier doctrine apply
Where doubts arise.
Writing about web page http://blogs.warwick.ac.uk/images/stuecs/2005/06/08/forgetmenot.jpgWere flower beds the sea,
Then Neptune should I be,
The laird of every leaf and cherished bud;
Forget-me-nots – forgotten not –
I’d scoop them by the flower-pot
Like brimming cups of azure from the flood!
And through the cliff is high…
Are there no flowers by Heaven’s towers,
No pastures in the sky?
To write the new-born sun an ode.
And, navigating by her light
Through cobwebs on the cliff-top height,
He clove the May flora like folds of dimity,
Or veils upon a bier.
All petticoat-frills and golden smile.
She begged him share her brithday tea,
But deaf to every plea was he,
And scribbled his note-book with vain graffiti
To prove that he was here.
Shone like a candle,
A big black darkness
On a big brass handle.
Writing about web page http://blogs.warwick.ac.uk/images/stuecs/2005/06/08/the_elven_drummer.jpgSo we’re going on a voyage
In the old sky-boat,
And a word is all you pay
To crowd the old sky-moat!
Did you hear the chime
When the clock struck zero
For the only time?
Not ready for sermons yet –
And do not hear.
While the mer-babies down at the seaside
Think only of keeping wet
Throughout the year.
Whose husbandry makes of the earth
The naïve – who embellish his garden
Like innocent blossom – are worth
More than the wise
Something beginning with sea!
Did you see the mermaids with your extra eye?
Did the mermaids show you
Where the Hyksos lie?
The tide leaks through to the narrow bay;
If you read the assassin’s false pretence
Get you gone to a field that has no fence.
And green things come from the sea and play,
The bells shall wait for the ladling can
And time and tide for the weather man.
When all who can sing shall learn to speak!
If there’s a hand that turns the Earth,
Then would a hand but turn the worm!
The child to king arise
If every man the child would see
That hides behind his eyes
A fulcrum on some mountain peak
That all the world and all her lands
May turned be by tiny hands
Writing about web page http://blogs.warwick.ac.uk/images/stuecs/2005/06/08/the_proud_father.jpgIf only the year would stay its clock
In the farm when the farmer spares his stock
When even the mightiest cleaves to the meek
And even a dumb beast’s tongue may speak
Defeated by the yellow sun
In the holy green they make their peace
To camouflage the golden fleece
Always black and white, neither right nor wrong.
But, please stay black and white – Swiss cows are never grey!
So ring your bells, take flight, on any sunny day!