A very strange thing happened the other evening. We were just sitting down to dinner with candles lit and ruby red wine when we both heard a tinkling rill of bells. Neither of us spoke until we heard a second rill. It was just as though someone had picked up the bowl of silver bells I have standing in the hall and shaken it.... twice.
"Did you hear bells?" I asked.
"I did, I was just about to ask you if you heard them too."
One cat was sitting upon the window-sill behind my chair looking into the deep dark garden outside, the other was actually out there in the darkness. So who or what rang the bells?
Do Angels Laugh (Nonet)
What is the sound of angel laughter?
Does it shiver like windblown leaves?
Does it ring out like church bells?
Tinkle like fine crystal?
Echo in the wind?
Float like a mist?
Glissando
Like heart's
Joy?
Mary Naylor
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/do-angels-laugh-nonet/
'We are reaching into the silence. Are we the music, whilst the music plays? Between the un-being and the being, sounds a hollow rumbling of wings... Am I here, or there, or elsewhere?' (With My apologies to T.S. Eliot)
Friday, 28 January 2011
Friday, 21 January 2011
When I was born we used to live in a big house. Not as big as the one in my header, I don't want to give the idea that we were landed gentry, but in comparison to houses around, it was big. It didn't stand in rolling hills or fields though, it was in the heart of a smoky industrial metropolis, where fogs descended regularly so thickly you literally couldn't see the person standing a foot away from you. A mile and a half behind the house, beyond a wood-merchants yard where the ringing sound of a massive saw mingled with the fragrance of wood sap, was the Manchester Ship Canal. When the fog came down you could hear the melancholy sound of fog-horns from ocean-going ships as they sailed between factories lining the canal banks. I was born four years after World War two ended, there were still ration-books, and the National Health Service was just a year and a month old. Our house belonged to my Grandfather who owned a plumbing business and my Father was secretary administrator, sitting at a desk just like this one in 'the office', what wouldn't I give to know what happened to that desk. Every morning he would wrestle with its roll-top that never ran smoothly and then sit in his swivel chair to smoke his first cigarette of many.
Photo: 'Homes and Antiques' January 2011
Photo: 'Homes and Antiques' January 2011
Sunday, 9 January 2011
'When they ask to see your gods
your book of prayers
show them lines
drawn delicately with veins
on the underside of a bird's wing
tell them you believe
in giant sycamores mottled
and stark against a winter sky
and in nights so frozen
stars crack open spilling
streams of molten ice to earth
and tell them how you drink
a holy wine of honeysuckle
on a warm spring day
and or the softness
of your mother who never taught you
death was life's reward
but who believed in the earth
and the sun
and a million, million light years
of being'
-J.L.Stanley.
http://paper-roads.blogspot.com/ (I have searched for information as to J.L.Stanley, writer, all I can find of her is:
http://jlstanley.livejournal.com/ )
http://jlstanley.livejournal.com/ )
Monday, 3 January 2011
Midnight New Year's Eve
Standing at my window to close the blinds at just past midnight I watched a million jewelled fireworks sparkle and jostle into the sky lighting the darkness. Crackling and snapping, banging and clapping they welcomed the New Year and sent the Old Year running into the past. A lull - occasional bursts of crimson and golden sparkling showers lit up the skyline, then I stood transfixed as it seemed to me hundreds of Fire-Lanterns rose above the rooftops and the hills. Silent as the wishes they bore they floated in glowing abundance, carrying the whispered hopes of their protagonists upwards to the heavens and a hopeful future of health, love, happiness and peace...please God.
"Ah...if wishes were horses,
Beggars would ride!"
'Lily Lily Rose'
by, John Singer Sargent,
tate.org.uk
"Ah...if wishes were horses,
Beggars would ride!"
'Lily Lily Rose'
by, John Singer Sargent,
tate.org.uk
Saturday, 1 January 2011
Long Ago -
Was it yesterday we learnt it?
In a dream,
In a dream where the whispering wind was ever warm,
And the seasons changed.
Were there snowdrops in the gardens?
Yes,
We picked them,
White, like angel's breath.
Whilst soft mosses drenched the beech boles
To a hue most brilliant green.
Were there melodies?
Like our lives, played in lilting themes,
Carrying both hearts dreaming
Beating to the same love as before,
The kisses were not tremulous,but knowing,
And the earth stood still beneath our ever dancing feet -
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