The Way of the Wombat

Today is National Poetry Day and the theme is water.

So have a couple of my mother's favourite poems, both by John Masefield. I can remember her being able to recite both off by heart when I was a child. She probably still can!

Cargoes

Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amythysts,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.

Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.



Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

I think we have had but a short autumn and are now in winter. It is cold, and has been blowing a hooley for the past few days. This evening, as I drove home from work about 6pm, the car warning light came on for 'possible frost'; in other words the temperature had dropped down to 4C for the first time in many months. The wind has blown all the leaves from the pear tree in the garden, they are a soggy mass under foot in the yard. And yet there are still both fuchsias and geraniums in bloom in the yard... weird.

Unrelated to the weather, I have been reading "Bliss Like This", a collection of five centuries of love poetry written by women. There are some wonderful poems in it - you may find another one or two cropping up here over the next weeks, but I thought I might share this - one canto of a much longer work.

When I read it it made me think of Arwen and her Aragorn - I wonder if other Tolkien loving friends agree?

The Mortal Lease

Yet for one rounded moment I will be
No more to you than what my lips may give,
And in the circle of your kisses live
As in some island of a storm-blown sea,
Where the cold surges of infinity
Upon the outward reefs unheeded grieve,
And the loud murmur of our blood shall weave
Primeval silences round you and me.


If in that moment we are all we are
We live enough. Let this for all requite.
Do I not know, some winged things from far
Are borne along illimitable night
To dance their lives out in a single flight
Between the moonrise and the setting star?

Edith Wharton.

I hope all the other Mums on LJ are having a good day - the Moms get their chance later!

We had a lovely service at church, only a couple of minor glitches - and a small pause to think of all those who would be facing their first Mothers' Day without their mother. I would ask you all to spare those people a moment - someone you know, or just generally, such as D-d's house-mate whose mother died at Christmas, or my brother-in-law and his siblings.

My gift from D-d was based, as you might have guessed from the last of the 365 posts, on those pictures. She had a 6x8 collage done of each week's pictures and then put all 52 into a pretty silver and pink album for me.

Under the cut I will include a poem we used in church and then some pictures of life this week - ( click for the pics... and the poem! )

Enjoy the rest of your day - both Mums, Moms, and other friends.

Hmm - I think it is probably S2C's sciatic nerve playing up. He is still staggering around and groaning. Poor husband. The cat has deserted him, and is out in the yard in the sunshine.

I have also been sitting out there, as has Daughter-dear. She is reading up on Sexuality in Eighteenth Century Britain, I have been reading poetry.

And I would like to share this poem firstly with all the knitters on my Friend's List but actually with all the other women. Actually all the men are very welcome to read it too!


( All Over The World women are knitting )
You have no idea how difficult it was for me to try to copy that without automatically punctuating it!