All my metaphorical boats are sunk.
The drunken English drink torrential rains
But Spain is still the place for getting drunk.
 |
Restaurant by the pool with people drinking |
Those bloody boats are getting on my nerves
No stupid metaphors or just desserts
But something that no errant soul deserves
 |
What no errant soul deserves (in cauda venenum ) |
Distance grows when unselfishness retreats,
Too many people tell too many lies
So leaving innocence in narrow streets
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An innocent in a narrow street |
Squatters bide their time till they get kicked out
Leaving rather insalubrious stains
And many traces of incipient gout.
 |
What used to be my house |
Of everything imaginable; I'm dead!
My head is English where the colour rains,
Black, white and grey, but I see only red.
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Seeing red |
When, after all, I've only had a week
Swimming in Mediterranean bays;
Back now with Dickens, in a house that's bleak.
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Mediterranean bay -pretty pretty. You can walk down to the secluded beach |
Peace and quiet; dumbing down the dummy - me.
So, the dummy is a pacifier
Pacifying forest-fire; save one tree!
 |
Spot the dummy (he has a mast growing out of his head) |
My heart aches. At least that's the way it looks.
Swollen, frozen, hard, scarred, charred and disbarred.
That's what comes of reading too many books.
So, "don't do nuffink", be a tub of lard!
My heart aches; at least one sign that's vital.
The problem is that every other part aches too.
Next picture - the clue is in the title
Another ship, but dream boats there are few.
My heart quakes and a dark foreboding looms
Closer, grosser, white forging the mind's eye.
My brain contains too many empty rooms
Save each contains an incandescent lie.
My heart aches, with unfathomable bliss
I have two children who are gifts from God
And were I to die tomorrow, every kiss
has made my pilgrim's way a path well-trod
My heart aches for sheltered Summer bowers
With quiet folk and simple work to do
A garden full of fruit, shade and flowers
A place for toil and rest, to be with you.
Enough of this bad verse and puns and pains and worse.
Swollen, frozen, hard, scarred, charred and disbarred.
That's what comes of reading too many books.
So, "don't do nuffink", be a tub of lard!
 |
Jacob, looking through the "monadology" by Leibniz. |
My heart aches; at least one sign that's vital.
The problem is that every other part aches too.
Next picture - the clue is in the title
Another ship, but dream boats there are few.
 |
The clue is in the title. (Incidentally, the name of the main character is not Mr. Daydream, but Jack) |
Closer, grosser, white forging the mind's eye.
My brain contains too many empty rooms
Save each contains an incandescent lie.
 |
My heart quakes |
I have two children who are gifts from God
And were I to die tomorrow, every kiss
has made my pilgrim's way a path well-trod
 |
"This is in very deed the star-domed city of God" Thomas Carlyle |
With quiet folk and simple work to do
A garden full of fruit, shade and flowers
A place for toil and rest, to be with you.
 |
Flowers, bowers and bad shorts in the hotel grounds |
High Flight (an Airman's Ecstasy)
Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.
Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.
Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
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