Sorry, For now my only usuable site will be at http://www.Xanga.com/More_Than_Just_Crabs/
June 24, 2005
June 17, 2005
-
Little Love Songs.
you read out bits
from your newspaper,
but i only ever remember
your voice.
---
it is so quiet,
that i hear only your heart
breathing for me.
---
listening to all the poetry
within your silence.
---
the morning birds,
and yes,
you singing
in the bathroom.
---
you shave me
so tenderly
that i think
you are merely
stroking my face.
---
i write you a poem
each time you touch me
even when the words
do not linger in the air.
---
you always start off
just washing my back,
and then...
oh, i love you!
---
i gave the dog
the wrong tin of meat,
but you only laughed
and cooked some chips.
---
i search for my hanky
you give me yours,
and i want to cry in it
through happiness.
---
The Poet Known as "Empty Chairs".
("Empty Chairs" is blind.)
----------
I look at the inscriptions on the stones
in my church,
and I wonder if
they are just forgotten names
of silence.
For can anything else exist
other than for their names
and their rotting bones?
Is this all a sham,
is there nothing beyond of this,
will our memories
turn to the same dust as our flesh?
If that is so,
then I feel even more than ever
that kindness to the living
is the most important role of any vicar.
I can not "save" what is mortal
but I can always bring a smile
to a face full of tears.
---
The Reverend Tobias Trontby †
---------------
June 14, 2005
-
MY US TRIP: see The_Clowne_from_Clown blog
Medical update: I have accute anemia now, which means I can do things like travel but I got to keep sitting down every few minutes.
As usual, I'll post my pieces and visit your blogs over the next couple of days, that is so I can read your blogs properly of course. Terry.
and sorry, more Sophie!
----------------
"In The Cemetery"
We went on a car-ride
To a cemetery
To see where Grandad was buried.
It was hard to cry
Over someone I hardly remembered,
But I pretended to be sad.
And I put some flowers on the grave
And did the three blessings.
(Not that that Grandad was Catholic,
That is Mummy's dad
Who is still alive
But lives a long way away).
I looked at the other graves
As Nanny sat down.
I read some of the words
And was sad to see
One grave was for a boy who died aged four,
who died two years ago.
"Why do I come here Sophie?"
Nanny asked me.
"To show you remember?"
I asked back.
"You are a good girl" she sighed
And we went back to the car.
It was a beautiful sunny day,
But the birdsong and the wild flowers were wasted
In such a sad place.
---
Sophie Lucy Morgan (Aged 10).
-----------
Diary extracts from August 2004.
Mam Tor towers above my church. At present, the hill-side is a mass of Scottish bluebells, and children slide down it's slopes on trays, and lovers hold hands and marvel at the sights.
They call Mam Tor "The Shivering Mountain", because the other side the mountain does shiver in high winds. In 1949, a road was laid around that side of the mountain at a considable expense, but each winter it had to close when there were high winds, and in 1982 a gale brought half the mountain onto the road and left large cracks in the part not affected, so it was never re-opened. It was not the first time this happened on the road and frankly it was not worth re-building.
On the church side though, how different! it is beautiful in mist, in snow, and in sun, and I have often puffed up it's tracks to the top to feel at one with God.
----
It is time for the well-dressing outside my church, when scouts guides cubs and brownies spend a week sticking flower-petals, twigs, moss and other natural substances, to make wonderful pictures.
For several years now they have followed the design of local artist, Celia Potts, (who also designed the new wonderful stained glass window in my church, all free.)
This year the surprising theme is Jonah and the Whale, but I did do that in my Sunday School.
Since 1860, every year's well-dressing has been photographed and kept in the church vaults, only to be read, viewed by appointment. Of course since the fifties, the photos have been in colour, and I have noticed Jonah has not been used before.
The other well dressing in Shawthwaite has less religious themes, they are working now on a view of the railway with a steam train coming through the valley. Very beautiful but as the idea of dressing the wells is to thank God for spring water in an otherwise waterless area, I think it misses the point.
---
Another beautiful day, and I stroll through the village in my dog-collar smiling and talking to people, and visiting the old the sick and the depressed.
I have so much to do in my parish, trips out for the younger kids, bingo, and my vast church garden, that I do not get out nearly enough, though my wonderful curate; a lady in her fifties, also does a great job.
She is invaluable, for it is amazing what there is to do, from VAT books to flower-arranging to going to Buxton to visit villagers in Hospital there. It is a busy life, but it is better than being some Father McKensey!
----
The Reverend Tobias Trontby †
(note: Mam Tor and well-dressing and so on exists, but the people are ficticious, and oh, ignore the date, wrote this this week!)
June 11, 2005
-
As last time, I'll blog then read your blogs inbetween rests, Terry.
I am not sure why I am writing a lot of Sophie poems, wrote another one since the below, maybe it's because being ill, I dream back to my own childhood. I know one thing, Freud would have a field day with me!
________
"Return To The Park"
Sitting in the park with Elgar,
Stone-skipping on the lake.
I love it when it is warm,
When the sun is out
And I have time
To do nothing much more
Than drink water and laze.
Elgar is now twelve, but says
He doesn't want to leave childhood,
He had seen too much of grown-up life.
Thinking of my dad, I agree.
I wish this could go on forever,
No more cares but a money-spider
Climbing up my arm.
Elgar makes me laugh,
Black, with it, and so on,
He has started talking like
The Famous Five children.
"Gosh!" he says "what a spiffing day!"
People stare at him as he shouts
"Jolly fine weather my good man!"
I, of course, get the giggles.
Yes, the sun on our skin,
Picnic at our side,
It's lovely to be with a male
I can really trust,
Not like my dad.
---
(Note: I mentioned Elgar to a supply teacher and she said "he's a great English composer!" and could not understand why some of us laughed.)
---
Sophie Lucy Morgan (aged 10)
_____
The crane pulled up
The leylandii tree
That was as big as a Leyland truck,
Will I miss the beast?
Will I "dog & duck"!
It took over the pub garden
And darkened all my rooms,
And killed any flowers nearby
That I tried to bloom.
I'm glad the thing is gone
I bet my customers will be too,
"Good riddence giant leylandii tree
I never loved you!"
You were planted by my Uncle Jack.
Though God knows why.
I'll place a rose garden there instead,
And there I'll sit on my nights off
Drinking beer till I die.
---
Tiffy Witherington.
----------
I have been told the leylandii is rare in America, here is a link http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/61679.stm
and now money spiders! http://www.the-piedpiper.co.uk/th11f(4).htm
June 8, 2005
-
Well, all the tests are through. I have a serious liver complaint. Painful, but nothing to stop any plans for this summer! (btw I have never been a big drinker)
Leaving new entry, will catch up with your blogs in between sleeping spells.
---------------
"Sometimes I want to run away from what is real, this is one of those times, so welcome to the land of fantasy...or is it?" Sophie.
--------------
I trapped the moon
In a balloon
And took it off to school.
And when I popped the balloon
There was the moon
That went "boo!"
--------------
I heard God
Speak on my i-pod
And He said to me
"Make us a cup of tea!"
So I brewed a cup
To see God sat up,
He was turning all my pencils
Into little gold angels.
---------------
"Flying Fish"
The fish flew over the trees,
It was glad to be free,
It did not at all pine for the sea
As it soared through the sky.
Birds looked at it
Cats looked at it
i looked at it
But it did not care.
"Flying is better than frying!"
The fish joked
As it carried on flapping it's gulls
Until it was
Far, far away.
So far away
That no one believed me
When I told them
That I saw a fish in the sky.
---
Sophie Lucy Morgan (aged 10)
----------
A Poem.
The lady told us off
Cos we were outside her gate talking.
If people has no respect for us kids
Then why should we respect them?
Why should we be nice to an old bully,
After all, I have seen her
Talking outside people's gates.
------
Sophie Lucy Morgan, aged 10
Haiku:
I glared at the cat...
And looking at me,
It dropped the bird.
----------
Sophie Lucy Morgan, aged 10
June 5, 2005
-
If I vanish a few days from Wednesday it's cos I am in hospital, but don't worry. TERRY.
ff % 243 Group haiku. (June 2005)
bf=blackie fortuna, EC=Empty Chairs, LP=Lord Pineapple, SLM=Sophie Lucy Morgan (aged 10), RTT=The Reverend Tobias Trontby, Vicar of Shawthwaite, TW=Tiffy Witherington.
------------
beautiful sunset
and no camera!
(LP)
------------
the morning paper
a murdered child
i go back and pray
(RTT)
------------
just one star
then clouds...
I go back indoors
(SLM)
------------
I open my eyes:
in the sunlight
a swarm of sneers
(bf)
------------
now so slow
will not scare
the crows in the field!
(LP)
_______
my video broken
I stare at the clouds
(TW)
------------
I can feel you
warm sun
I can feel you!
(EC)
------------
cucumber slice
falls from sandwich:
ant soon there
(LP)
------------
the vegetarian
hurries past
the butchers
(SLM)
------------
no longer seeing
the milky way:
my old eyes
(LP)
------------
so cold
as I remember
her death
(LP)
------------
Beethoven's ninth...
I cry myself
to sleep
(LP)
------------
__________
Terry Cuthbert. June 2005
--------------
Ps Sorry about the last post, it vanished! My stupidity! Thanks to Ben got the post back but not your lovely comments.
June 1, 2005
-
ff % 243 Group haiku. (May 2005)
bf=blackie fortuna, EC=Empty Chairs, LP=Lord Pineapple, SLM=Sophie Lucy Morgan (aged 10), RTT=The Reverend Tobias Trontby, Vicar of Shawthwaite, TW=Tiffy Witherington.
-------------
waiting for the fur cones to open out on the heater (SLM)
---
on the tiny island noticing every flower (RTT)
---
together, the dog and I clean up after the barbecue. (TW)
---
a dripping tap... the only sound in the old chapel (RTT)
---
it is not the wasp's fault, it did not know I was blind (EC)
---
the spider weaves an haiku on my cardboard bed (bf)
---
with my tears I christen the still-born baby (RTT)
---
plastic flowers, I feed with a duster (TW)
---
Christmas morning: a father steer's his son's new bike (LP)
---
frozen river: the duck pecks at the ice (SLM)
---
daybreak. I wash my hands in the snow (bf)
---
a pressed flower falls out of her bible (RTT)
---
making daisy-chains out of buttercups (SLM)
---
"isn't my dress a pretty colour!" the child cries. "red" whispers my friend (EC)
---
after the fire dies, the stray cat yawns and vanishes. winter moon (bf)
---
white blossom? snow? white blossom? (LP)
---
cricket on the village green. i just pass around the teas (RTT)
---
I take out my wrapped sandwiches and pigeons fly in (LP)
---
in the church hall children are singing. I tend my garden with joy (RTT)
---
I shoo the wasp from my lemonade. it flies into mummy's and I cry (SLM)
---
my touch goes dim. I look. a moth (bf)
---
her book marked. she never did read the last chapter. my mother. (LP)
---
the spider web is a cat's cradle in the crown of my hands (SLM)
---
In the shop doorway, myself, a box, a flea (bf)
---
sweeping up wet confetti, look up, see the rainbow (RTT)
Terry Cuthbert.
-------------------
Rain
Sheltering under a tree.
A stray dog joins me.
We look at each other and we each sigh.
This was to be the perfect day.
---
Marie St. Denis.
____________________
Illness keeps my comments short, but it does not stop my enjoyment in reading.
MORE ON MY AMERICAN HOLIDAY! SEE "The_Clowne_from_Clown" site!
and on my Three_Headed_Goliaths site, Tiffy throws away her dildo!
May 29, 2005
-
Four poems that run into each other, by Sophie.
Daddy showed me some sex-sites
On his computer.
I told mummy,
Mummy told a Policeman,
Daddy is now in trouble.
His bit of spare came round in tears
But Mummy would not let her in.
I would like to write more
But Mummy says
It's best not to.
Daddy might not be allowed to see me again,
The only regret will be
Is two less people to write about
In my poetry.
---
It's evening time.
Nanny has taken me to the seaside
To forget about daddy,
(Her son).
We watched the sun creep down and we cried together.
I said sorry,
And Nanny said sorry.
And we walked hand in hand
On the edge of the sand
Like the owl and the pussycat.
---
It's nice having a weekend holiday
(The Monday is a bank holiday).
Nanny is of course sad
But I let her win at "Connect 4"
And she taught me chess
And we forgot the one day of rain.
---
The holiday is already nearly over
So I took one last stroll
To the rock-pool,
And Nanny slipped
And got her leg wet.
I was worried that Nanny hurt herself,
Cos she IS very old,
But she was ok
And dried herself with a beach towel
As I said goodbye to the camp clown.
---
Sophie Lucy Morgan, aged ten.
Notes
Next here: Haiku (British, Canadian style) by the ff % 243 crew (ie myself!)
On the Goliaths' site Three_Headed_Goliaths site is a poem by Tiffy Witherington
May 28, 2005
-
More truthful misery on my The_Clowne_from_Clown site!
Sunday: here: 4 poems by Sophie Lucy Morgan. And on the Three_Headed_Goliaths
(now), poor Tiffy meets her ungrateful son in jail again.
The City And The Stars.
_____________________
And they all come to the city
In their vast cars
And staying at vast hotels
Paying for just one night
A chambermaid's weekly wage.
They come to the city
For a great charity show
Dipping their hands only so far into their pocket
As if giving a tip
To a concierge
They do not particularity like.
They come to the city
To show off their wealth
And the police boss us workers about
When we are only trying to get home.
For the stars come first, meeting the President
Whilst we shiver on the metro-lines
And curse the city
And the stars.
---
Marie St. Denis
------
Never knowing
What the new day will bring,
What happiness
What woe.
A new life
A new death?
We all wake up and bless the day
And yet not all of us will be there
At the end of the day.
Who know what heart may give away
What wall may fall
What water may lure.
Who knows if a car
Will travel too fast
Or who'll forget
To look both ways.
I start my personal morning prayer
And bless those not yet born,
But I do not know
Who will die.
I pin up a church notice
And the town gossip comes around.
I visit the church hall
And arrange the chairs
Knowing that every move I take
May be my last.
I help pick up the litter
From the church yard,
Pick the flowers up
From the shop.
It may be sunny or wet or cold
But the day will begin
Pretty much the same.
It is the end of it
That I'll never know about
As I did not that day
When I kissed you goodbye
And never thought of adding that
I love you until the day I die.
---
The Reverend Tobias Trontby †
-------------
She was never a child,
Never allowed to be
If it got in the way
Of her working,
Or if she got in the way
Of her father's fist.
----
Lord Pineapple
-------------
May 22, 2005
-
I have closed down the Sarahs' site it upset too many people in the end. When it first began, their inane and ignorant comments made people laugh, now they only get people nasty with me. The Sarahs' are off to a new home where I am sure they will be happy. (Guardian Talk).
--------------------------
As she threw some dirt upon his coffin,
She said "thank you for being my friend"
I held back those tears
That vicars are not suppose to shed.
It seemed such a sad thing to say
After they had been married for 55 years.
"Thank you for being my friend."
Up above in the evening sky
A star began to shine
And I wanted to believe that
It was her friend.
---
The Reverend Tobias Trontby †
__________________
Margaritæ Sorori
Will they come for your soul my dear,
After all of this time,
Will they come for your soul Margaritæ,
And for your spirit, and rob us all
Of the love you felt for us?
Will they come regretfully,
And with tender touch,
To guide you into heaven,
Until you are all in our past?
Margaritæ Sorori,
Will they come for you at last
And ease your burning memory,
So much that has been lost
With the rotting of your brain?
We loved you so much my dear,
And remember you as you were,
A lady singing daisy-pies,
A mother, a queen, a goddess.
Will they come for you and rob us,
We whom you no longer know,
We who you helped in so many ways,
And gave so much kindness to?
Margaritæ Sorori,
Let us pack away the books that you
No longer understand,
The food you can no longer eat,
The thoughts you no longer have.
Let us pack them all away, and ask
For the angels to give you
As you gave all of us,
Love and heart and happiness,
And a key to your mind.
---
The Rev. Tobias Trontby †
________________
Jesus in 2005
"As Samual lay bleeding in a ditch,
A good Samaritan crossed the road to help.
'Bloody terrorist!' thought Samual
And shot the Samaritan dead."
When Jesus then fell silent,
The soldiers spat in the sand
And returned to torturing Jesus,
Even nailing him to a cross.
---
The Reverend Tobias Trontby †
_______________
"Will we meet again in heaven?"
Will we meet again in heaven
Like we met on earth?
Will we be able to hold hands again,
Kiss again,
And make love again?
My body grows old,
Yours melted in the ground,
But that does not mean
That somewhere we will not be as we were.
Will we meet again in heaven,
And will I be able to say
"I love you"
Like I once said it to your silent face,
The day I kissed those sweet dead eyes of yours
In that sad sad place?
Will we meet again in heaven
You and I?
Will we meet again in heaven
When it is my turn to say good-bye?
---
Reverend Tobias Trontby. †
________________
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